The Lay of Lanithriel MoonGarland
by M.E. Davis
Summary: A Maia of old, fearing that his place in Middle-Earth is dissolving, seeks to crumble Elessar's Kingdom. A young woman from Ithilien finds herself in the middle of the struggle.


Disclaimer: The author recognizes that the places and characters herein are not her property and borrowed from the work of Tolkien. This text is not to be redistributed or used for profit purposes.

**The Lay of Lanithriel Moon-Garland**

Note to the Reader:

            The following tale (fictitious, obviously) takes place roughly thirty years after Aragorn bade Faramir dwell in the hills of Emyn Arnen with Beregond as the captain of the White Company. According to the history I have invented to precede "The Lay of Lanithriel Moon-Garland," Aragorn has since completely pardoned Beregond for his crime of spilling blood in the Hallows. Beregond, who longed to return to the White City of his birth, did so and came into the service of the king once more. Those that remained of Faramir's guard moved with him deeper into Ithilien, along with the Lady Éowyn and about two hundred soldiers. Aragorn allowed this because he knew his friends longed for the unique peace and beauty of Henneth Annun and also because the countryside surrounding Minas Ithil (previously Minas Morgul) still needed to be cleansed of fugitive orcs and other foul things.

            In Emyn Arnen, Faramir and Éowyn left behind a grand fortress that was afterward known as Ithilost – Bastion of the Moon. Though the prince of Ithilien and his lady departed from Ithilost, it was never completely abandoned, for they would return to it several times over the years (they were akin to stay there a few days and rest ere they went to visit the king in Minas Tirith) and it ever served as a refuge for weary travelers through Gondor. In F.A. 30, the year in which "The Lay of Lanithriel Moon-Garland" takes place, Ithilost is inhabited only by a small staff of Faramir's servants and a few voyagers seeking temporary shelter.

**Chapter One**

The Year 30 of the Fourth Age 

            Twilight fell on Ithilien like a cool, gray cloak. Fingers of soft gloom stretched into the trees. Shadows deepened. Birds loosed their enchanting melodies in memory of the recent sunset, which had bathed the hillside in fire and blood. A sunset which Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn had no doubt watched from Henneth Annun.

            A breeze from the Bay of Belfalas rushed up the Anduin and, turning east toward the Ephel Duath, raced through the woods to stir the pale gold tresses of Lanithriel, who stood some distance from the forbidden pool. The rest of her proud form remained as still as stone as she surveyed the wild beauty of her home. Her hunter's way of blending silently into the foliage, in combination with her brown and green woodland garb, would have made her nearly invisible to the careless eye. However, the eye of Faramir, prince of all Ithilien, was far from careless.

            "There is no longer any need to keep watch when the shadow of night falls, my daughter," he said. He strode slowly to the young woman's side. "The threat of Mordor was lifted long ago, before ever the world knew the fairness of your face or the strength of your arm."

            Lanithriel still stood unmoving, leaning slightly on the support of a graceful longbow. Finally, she answered. "My lord and father, I fear that the day I let down my guard is the day some ancient fell beast or other will find its way into the light. We know not what evil still lurks in the deep, dark reaches of Arda, nor when it may stalk through her lands anew. But that evil still lurks somewhere, we can be sure. I intend to be here, with my blade and bow, when it comes."

            Despite Lanithriel's grim countenance, the prince laughed and drew his daughter into his arms. "If the foul beast you speak of does find its way into fair Ithilien, you do not have to face it alone, my heart. But alas! You are stern and proud and prone to despair as was your mother; I am sure my attempts to console you would be to no avail."

            Lanithriel turned her face to Faramir's and her starry-night-blue eyes glowed in the waning light. She smiled at last: "Nay, Father, I would find much consolation in a message that the evening meal is ready, if that is indeed what you have come to deliver."

            "Ah, the demands of the stomach!" laughed the prince, "Yes, roaming the forests all day can have that effect on a man – or a woman," he added. "The evening meal will be ready by the time we reach the caves, if you will walk back with me. And I dare say it will be a feast suited to a brave hunter of the Land of the Moon."

            Lanithriel smiled, "In that case, I shall return with you, Father."

            The lord Faramir looked with fondness on his daughter as they turned toward the falls and the caverns that lay behind.  "You remind me always of your mother," he said, "especially when you smile. Even in the heart of chill winter, it makes me feel as though the first blossom of bright spring has opened. I felt it the first time I saw your mother, when I was walking in the gardens of the Houses of Healing. A stifling murk had stretched across the sky and Sauron's power was descending upon the white city, but there in the midst of hopelessness, I saw a light striding toward me. I saw the White Lady of Rohan. And one day you may be called the White Lady of Ithilien."

            "Nay, I hope to be Lanithriel Moon-Garland, the Silver Lady of Ithilien, for I am not much given to wearing white as Mother was."

            "Ah, yes, this I know," said Faramir. "The title you have chosen is far more fitting, anyway, for silver was the waterfall's mist that garlanded the moon on the eve of your birth – the mist garland for which your mother and I named you."

            "I know the story well," said Lanithriel, "and I have seen the same silver spray over the moon a thousand times." She paused. They had reached the edge of the forbidden pool and the roar of the white falls of Henneth Annun filled the moist air. But for his well-trained hunter's ears, Faramir would not have heard his daughter murmur, "It is my only desire to see it a thousand more times."

            The warm, mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat and spiced stew reached their nostrils as they climbed around the pool and ascended to the caves. The Lady Éowyn heard the echo of their boots on the wet stone stair and went to meet them.

            "Greetings, my lord and daughter," she said, "I was ready to send one of the captains out to find you, but you have come just in time."

            "It cannot be told what good that would have done," Faramir grinned, "for Lanithriel can only be found when she allows it."

            "Alas, you have taught her too well, Jeweled Hunter!" exclaimed Éowyn in mock exasperation. "Instead of a noble lady I have a wild Púkel-woman for a daughter."

            "It is not so, dear wife, Lanithriel inherited your noble bearing as well as your fierce, unruly spirit."

            "But I was tamed, was I not, my lord?" Éowyn jested.

            An amused smile bloomed on the fair face of Faramir, lighting his gray eyes. "As tamed as a courageous shield-maiden of Rohan could be," he answered.

            The prince, Éowyn, and Lanithriel made their way to the curtained recess at the rear of the cavern, where they found a table laid with the victuals they had smelled from outside. It had been prepared for them by the servants that dwelled with their lord and lady in the sanctuary behind the falls. Also taking up residence in the ancient refuge of Gondor's troops were a couple hundred battle-trained men and a few captains. These included Captain Farithil, Captain Arandil, and Captain Elrhos. Captains Farithil and Arandil were the twin sons of Prince Faramir and Lady Éowyn, born five years before their sister Lanithriel. They were near in age to Elrhos. The three captains and the woodland soldiers were posted in Ithilien to cleanse it and the surrounding lands of the occasional uprising of orcs, for many of the foul creatures still scrounged a meager existence in the dark places of the hills. As the lord and lady and their daughter were being seated at the long, pine table, the curtain was drawn aside to admit Farithil, Arandil, and Elrhos.

            "And just when I thought the company could not be more pleasurable," said Faramir, "here come my sons and a dear companion! Captain Elrhos, my friend, how do you fare this evening?"

            Elrhos, taller by a fair margin than the other men, lifted his smooth, striking face. "The splendor of Ithilien never fails to lighten my heart, Lord," he said. "I did not think a better mood possible, but I find my strength is renewed at the sight of such beauty as only one in your household could possess." The captain looked at Lanithriel, who returned his gaze levelly. They held each other's eyes until Farithil gave a deliberate cough.

            "Let us all sit and eat!" he said cheerfully.

            "Yes, please sit down, all," commanded Faramir.

            They took their seats at the long table, with the prince and the Lady Éowyn at opposite ends, Arandil and Lanithriel on one side, and Farithil and Elrhos on the other. A servant entered silently and began to fill their silver tankards with ale. Faramir took the first bite of bread and the others followed suit.

            "What did you see in your scouting today?" asked Éowyn after swallowing a chunk of roasted rabbit.

            "Nothing of much interest, my lady," answered Elrhos, "but often there is a calm before the storm. It would not do to let our guard down when it is stray orcs we are dealing with."

            "You speak true," said the prince. "I am honored to have proud men of Gondor such as yourself patrolling my land. Would you not say so, Lanithriel?"

            The young woman looked up at her father from beneath arched brows. "Gondor's women are capable as well, my lord, as you would discover if you would only allow me to venture farther from the falls to look for the lairs of orcs."

            "Ah," Captain Elrhos interjected, "it is clear you are as brave and adventurous as your mother. I fear, however, the lair of an orc is no place for a lady as noble as yourself."

            Lanithriel received Elrhos' comment as an insult and glanced, offended, to her mother. Éowyn leapt to heal the unintentional wound: "Do not forget that when it comes to matters of kin, Captain Elrhos, noble women can achieve the impossible. It was said that the witch king could not be killed, but I slew him in the name of my dear uncle, Theoden King."

            "And may your deed be remembered in legend and song for many ages, my lady, but there is no need for Lady Lanithriel to trouble herself over orcs as long as I dwell here." The captain's soulful gray eyes flicked to the young woman's comely face. "I give my word."

            Lanithriel lowered her gaze to the plate before her, so as to hide her frustration. "I thank you, Captain."

            Elrhos smiled tranquilly. He was earnestly pleased that he could be of service to Faramir's daughter, for he was as admirable and caring a man as ever lived. Indeed, he had no intention of affronting Lanithriel, rather, he wanted nothing more than to win her heart and care for her all her life. Lanithriel's heart, however, was not to be won – at least not by Captain Elrhos.

            Farithil was raising a slice of bread to his lips when he froze, recalling a strange incident from earlier in the day. "Captain Elrhos," he said, his brow furrowing in thought, "it is true that we saw no orcs today, but I seem to remember seeing…something else…"

            Lanithriel looked up suddenly: "A swift shadow, moving as softly as a whisper through the trees," she finished for him.

            "Yes, that was the way of it!" cried Farithil, "You saw it, too, sister?"

            "Yes. It was not long after the sun reached her peak, at an hour when no intruder should be able to hide."

            Surprise and concern moved like storm clouds through the eyes of everyone gathered. "Could it have been one of the guards?" asked Faramir, "A soldier, perhaps? They move from post to post during the day."

            "I know where the guards are posted, Father, and this shadow was not moving anywhere near those regions."

            "It appears you have been venturing far from the falls, after all," said Faramir gravely. Lanithriel did not shrink from his reproving stare, though many who were fainter of heart than she might have.

            "Never mind that!" Éowyn told them, "This is troubling, indeed. We must determine the origin of this so-called shadow. I dare say it is a good thing it was not spotted nearer to our refuge."

            "When did you see it, son?" said Faramir, "And where?"

            Farithil glanced toward the curtain before speaking. He was careful to reply in a low voice when he began, "We were in North Ithilien, having our midday meal, when I sensed a presence. I believe I sensed it more than saw it, for whatever it was moved with the stealth and speed of…well, an elf."

            "An elf?" said Faramir. "My son, are you sure? Nearly all of elven-kind have departed for the distant shores, and those that remain are our friends and allies. They would not sneak unannounced into my realm."

            "I thought the same, my lord," said Farithil, "but I can think of no other way to describe what I spotted in the woods."

            The Lady Éowyn addressed Lanithriel: "Daughter, could you call what you saw an elf?"

            "It certainly darted through the trees with the grace possessed by the Eldar. The reason I did not knock an arrow to my bow is that I first thought it was merely a doe or a fawn. By the time I realized it could not have been an animal, it was gone."

            "It did not try to harm you, then?" Elrhos asked, ever concerned for the young woman's safety, which did nothing to assuage her frustration with him.

            "No, Captain, it did not even come very near to me."

            "Nay, neither did it come very close to our camp as we ate," mused Farithil.

            "Surely that is a sign that whoever it is does not mean any ill," Arandil said, asking more than telling.

            "I cannot say," Farithil answered, "but I think it only wise that we should keep one eye open and searching throughout the next few days."

            "And I will keep two eyes open and searching," offered Lanithriel, clutching the dagger at her belt instinctively.

            "Lady, I must object," remarked Elrhos, "we do not yet know if this…shadow…is friend or foe. It may have been keeping its distance while it probed for our weaknesses. One woman on her own would not likely seem a threat to this unknown prowler."

            "All the more reason for me to be in the woods looking for it!" Lanithriel protested. Her mother shot her a look for her tone and she carefully added, "_Captain_. If it is not concerned with me, then I may get close to it - if, indeed, 'it' exists."

            "I do not deem it worth the risk, Lady," Elrhos advised. "Prince Faramir, please grant your support on this matter."

            The prince sighed, "He is probably right, my heart. It is my desire, as well, that you remain within the refuge of the caves for a while."

            Lanithriel huffed exasperatedly. She looked to the Lady Éowyn for help, but her mother offered only a serene, patient smile. Incensed, the young woman rose from the bench and strode from the room, flinging the curtain out of her way.

            Elrhos rose to follow her but Farithil placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Do not trouble yourself over her wrath," he smiled calmly. "She never was one to listen to what was best for her."

            "Perhaps not," said Elrhos, reluctantly taking his seat, "but it is on my account that she must become imprisoned here, in her own home, even if it is only for a little while."

            "You are too harsh with yourself, Captain," Éowyn told Elrhos. "If no one had commanded her to remain where it is safe, then I would have."

            Prince Faramir and his twin sons turned to her and gave her three identical looks of skepticism.

            "Well, 'tis true!" laughed the White Lady. "I would have confined her to the caves because I know better than any here what manner of danger she can get herself into. I know because I _was_ she, many years ago."

            "Not so many years ago," Faramir said, dipping his spoon into his stew, "or at least they do not show upon your undiminished countenance, my lady."

            Éowyn smiled, and it seemed that the light in the cavern grew, though the flames of the torches were unchanged.

            "You are excessive in your praise, lord," she said with bright mirth in her eyes. "Or perhaps the years that have passed are so many you are losing your hunter's sight! For I am not the smooth-faced shield-maiden I once was."

            "Nay, you are more beautiful than she," the prince replied, "though I did not think such a thing possible."

            "With respect, lady, what the Lord Faramir says 'tis true," Elrhos cut in. "I would rather be in your service even than in that of the renowned Lady of the Golden Wood, Galadriel."

            "My dear Captain Elrhos, you speak too quickly," replied Éowyn, "for there was only one who walked this earth who was fairer than she. My Lord Faramir will testify to that."

            "Yes," answered the prince. "I looked upon the Lady Galadriel ere she departed from the Gray Havens. She was fairer than the dawn and more terrible than the sea. She had beauty enough to steal a man's voice."

            "You mean she used her sorceress' powers to take men's voices?" exclaimed Arandil, gray eyes wide.

            "Nay, nay!" laughed Faramir. "One day you will learn that it is sometimes difficult to find the words to speak when in the presence of a beautiful lady." The prince glanced at Éowyn, but she was carefully keeping her eyes on her plate and trying not to smile.

            "That day, for me, has already arrived," said Elrhos. A few strands of dark hair fell in front of his eyes as he bent over his food.

            "You mean the Lady Lanithriel, my sister?" grinned Arandil. "What ill deed did you commit to bring such misery upon yourself?"

            "Arandil, that is quite enough, my son!" admonished Éowyn, but she was quick enough to grin, as well. "Lanithriel's heart may yet turn towards you, Captain. She is young and has much to learn."

            "Yes, well, I have yet to learn what it is that will turn her heart towards me."

            Farithil adopted a thoughtful look and rubbed his chin between his fingers. "Perhaps if you sought out one of those elf-sorceresses," he said, "and had her turn you into a weapon, Lanithriel might actually keep your company. She may even carry you around all day!"

            The twins burst into laughter, to the vexation of their parents, while Elrhos gave a weak smile. Farithil caught sight of his father's glower and his laughter slowly ceased. He pleaded, "I'm only saying that weapons are about the _only_ company she keeps. At all hours of daylight, and sometimes after, she is roaming the hills watching for orcs. There are scores of soldiers posted here to do just that!"

            "Yes, my son," said Éowyn, "but Lanithriel is trying to find her place in the world. Aside from myself, she is the only woman within fifty miles, and that is a lonely thing indeed when none of the men will let her fight as they do. She does not want the life of a wet nurse, but neither can she be a soldier. There is only one Lanithriel, and none here can say for sure where she belongs. It may be that Ithilien is not meant to be her home for ever."

            "If that be the case, then neither is it meant always to be my home," Elrhos stated resolutely. "Though Ithilien is as fair a place as any I know, the Lady Lanithriel is fairer still, and I desire only to serve her."

            "If only she was to be won with words, Captain," said Faramir, "she might already be your mate, for you are as brave in speech as you are in battle."

            Elrhos said nothing more and the table fell silent. For a few moments, the peaceful rush of the falls and the echoes of soldiers moving through the caves were the only sounds. Suddenly, the quiet was shattered by angry shouts from the main stair. The captains and the lord and lady looked toward the curtain in surprise and then rose hurriedly, snatching their weapons from the corner. As the five strode through the cavern toward the stair, a servant rushed to meet them.

            "What is the meaning of this?" asked Faramir. "What has happened?"

            "My lord," panted the green-garbed man, "the Lady Lanithriel! She found an elf and has brought him to the refuge at dagger-point!"

**Chapter Two**

            "You are a trespasser in this land and you will be subject to the command of the Lord Faramir!" insisted one of the guards trying to restrain the struggling elf. The elf did not have need to struggle for very long, for he was mightier by far than any of the men present and they could not hold him. Once free, he stood tall on the landing above the main stairway, surrounded by a swarm of angered guards, awaiting proudly whatever fate would befall him.

            Lanithriel remained to the rear of the fair-haired elf, following his every move with the tip of her silver dagger. "You would do well to remember, Master Elf," she snarled, "that there is a weapon at your back, should you attempt anything rash."

            "I assure you I have given you no reason for the use of weaponry, nor do I intend to," answered the elf in a startlingly tranquil, rich voice. "If it were my wish to do something rash, young one, you may believe me that you would have already parted ways with your dagger."

            "Do you mean to say, intruder, that you could remove my weapon from my grasp at will?" As Lanithriel asked this, she could see the rest of her family hurrying across the cave toward them.

            Almost the instant the young woman's words were out of her mouth, the elf had spun, his flaxen hair flying, and swiped the dagger clean out of her hand. She stared, flabbergasted, at the empty grip she had thought was so secure and steady. For a moment, her blue eyes were wide with surprise, then her white cheeks colored slightly.

            "You may be a trespasser, but you speak the truth, at least," Lanithriel said bashfully.

            "Then trust what I have already sworn – I am no enemy of Ithilien, or of Prince Faramir."

            Lanithriel had no time to answer, for her father had arrived. "Master Elf," Faramir said, a little short of breath, "I have overheard your vow that you mean no harm to me or my fair land. Tell us your name, then, and what brings you to Ithilien."

            The elf drew himself up to his full height and everyone present saw for the first time how truly impressive he was in stature. Some of the guards shrank back, for his face was dignified and beautiful and he stood at least a head higher than the tallest of Faramir's men. "I am Elhwestal Lightfoot and I come bearing a message from Prince Legolas of the Mirkwood Realm. I would not have approached your home so stealthily, but I fear I cannot help the way I travel. I am told I move lightly even compared to others of the race of the Eldar, therefore your men should not feel at fault because they did not detect my presence. I am only sorrow I surprised them and failed to convey my friendship sooner.

            "There is one among you, however, whom I did not catch unawares. I believe I have a finely wrought dagger to return to her." Elhwestal smiled graciously and turned to hand Lanithriel's weapon back to her. She received it without a word, hoping no one would inquire as to how the elf came to possess it instead of her.

            "Ah, yes," nodded Faramir, "the Lady Éowyn tells me I have taught this one too well. She knows the woods of Ithilien and what belongs in them better than most."

            "This I believe," the elf replied, "for it was she that alerted the guards to my presence and guided me most courteously to this refuge." Lanithriel blushed anew. "By what title are you known, fair child?" Elhwestal asked.

            "I am Lanithriel, my lord. And I owe you my humblest apologies. I should not have been so swift to name you as foe. Please forgive my ignorance."

            "And mine," added one of the guards who had been trying to restrain the elf, "I meant no disrespect to Elven kind."

            "All is forgiven," smiled Elhwestal, "but I would advise you never to try to wrestle an elf again. There is not much success to be had in such a feat." The guards laughed warily, relieved they had found favor in the eyes of the fair elf, despite their treatment of him.

            "When did you enter Ithilien, friend elf?" said Faramir.

            "I heard the rushing of Henneth Annun's pure waters from the Field of Cormallen this morning, when the sun had been in the sky for four hours already. It took me another two hours to reach the refuge, Lord."

            "Then you move swiftly, Elhwestal, as well as lightly. You must have been the shadow that both my son and daughter tell me they sensed moving past when the sun was at its zenith."

            "Yes, I lingered in the woods for a while then, for the trees here, though small, are fair and lively in their youth."

"Lively, friend elf?" repeated a guard. His face was twisted in puzzlement.

"Oh, yes," Elhwestal nodded solemnly. "And they are most pleasant to talk to." The bemused guards glanced at each other, wondering if they had heard correctly, but the Lady Éowyn, who was also present, was changing the subject.

"But Elhwestal," she said, "it has been nearly seven hours since noontide! You have lingered within our realm all this time?"

"Yes, my Lady, for though the companionship of a tree is sweet to the heart, they have much to say. The day waned and my errand was delayed while I walked among them and listened to their voices. But as you know, it is futile to rush a tree."

"Oh," said Éowyn, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, "I am sure it is." The twins tried unsuccessfully to stifle laughter while Elhwestal went on.

"I have learned, however," replied the elf, "that while I tarried in the company of Ithilien's trees I became cause for some suspicion, and for that I am truly sorry."

"Well, that is forgotten, now, friend elf," answered Faramir. "My son and daughter were merely protecting their father's princedom when they reported their worries about you to me. We all of us doubted that you were an elf. We thought it more likely that some fell stranger had wandered into Ithilien."

"That, my Lord, brings me to the message Prince Legolas entrusted we with. I am loath to utter it here, however, where a whisper might escape the refuge through the Window. Perhaps there is some place more private we might enter?"

"A wise suggestion, friend elf," said Faramir. "Follow me."

The guards dispersed and hefted their spears as they resumed their posts. Some retreated down the stairway to walk back into the woods. Captains Elrhos, Arandil, and Farithil followed the elf and their father back towards the curtained recess at the back of the cavern. The Lady Éowyn and Lanithriel stepped into the recess last of all and took their seats at the pine table. The wilderness outside the refuge had grown completely dark and the night shadows spread far into the caves. The torches in the brackets on the walls provided the only light in the room. Reflections of their glowing flames danced in all the pairs of light-hued eyes of those gathered.

Elhwestal waited until all those seated were watching him before he began. When he finally spoke, his tone was soft and grim. "I must first assure you that the King and Queen and their children are safe and well…for the time being. Nearly all of the Lord Aragorn's friends and allies, including my master, Prince Legolas, have gathered to his aid in these anxious times. For evil lurks anew Gondor, and it would have them meet their end."

"Evil? Tell me this menace you speak of is not _in_ the White City!" said Arandil, grimacing as a chorus of six hushing noises assailed him.

"I can tell you no such lie," answered Elhwestal, "for we have indeed discovered that this evil prowls the streets below the Tower of the Guard."

"But, friend elf, how could that be?" protested Farithil. "Surely while the Lord Aragorn reigns in glory and wisdom, no real threat faces Minas Tirith."

"The threat of which I speak is as real as any," Elhwestal said gravely, "but it is not any fault of the king's. Indeed, King Aragorn is as mighty and as discerning as ever, but this evil escapes him. Someone weaves a net of lies and deceit, turning the hearts of the people against him. This insurgent scurries like a cheat and a coward from one place to the next just before we can discover where he is or how he is working."

"This unseen menace is skilled indeed to be able to escape the wise eye of Aragorn in the king's own city," remarked Faramir.

"You speak truly, Lord," said the elf. "We, the king's friends, have reason to believe that this evil is lent strength and skill by the very nature of his being."

Frowns of bafflement ricocheted around the table.

"What is your meaning?" asked Faramir. Suddenly, a voice from the end of the table answered.

"Maiar."

It was Elrhos' voice. All eyes turned to his face, which, all of a sudden, inexplicably appeared to those at the table as a bottomless well of experience and knowledge. Elhwestal sighed as he met his gaze.

"In this household," the elf said, "youth possesses wisdom beyond its age. The captain speaks the truth, though I know not how he has learned of it. I believe the menace that stirs rebellion in the White City to be one of the Maiar of old, as do all the king's friends and servants."

"Oh, save us," whispered Éowyn.

"One of the Maiar troubles Minas Tirith?" asked Farithil. "But the tales I have heard name Mithrandir as a Maiar, and he was a good wizard without whom the Fourth Age might never have come about."

"Yes," agreed Elhwestal, "but not all Maiar were good. Sauron himself was of the Maiar, created to serve the Valar when Arda first came into being. He went astray, however, and became the servant of the rebel Vala, Morgoth. When Morgoth was defeated, Sauron rose to greater power and sought to dominate the peoples of Middle-Earth. The rest of the tale you know well."

"Let us not allow this evil in Minas Tirith to bring about another such tale in Fourth Age," Éowyn said resolutely. "Please tell us what may be done to stop this menace, and how we may be of aid."

"At last we reach the true subject of my errand," said Elhwestal. "I realize now what need there is for haste. Prince Legolas has realized it, as well, for he has sent me with a message for some in this household to come to Minas Tirith – to help the Lord Aragorn. The King himself feared to ask this of you, for he feels he has been the cause of enough pain in your hearts in the past. He does not want to trouble you further, or disturb the peace you have found in Ithilien."

Éowyn's gray eyes found Faramir's and a look of deep understanding passed between them. "It is true," the White Lady said, "that once, love of the Lord Aragorn caused me such misery that I wanted to ride to battle just to meet my death. But in time, my heart was changed, and it happened that Elessar brought about our happiness." A peaceful smile touched her soft lips, which Faramir returned. She finished, "He need not worry that we will think he is trying to destroy it."

"Nonetheless, he worries about just that, my Lady," said Elhwestal.

"Well," Faramir replied, "he is mad to think I will not come to his aid in an hour of darkness. As his servant, former steward, and friend, I cannot stand by and watch a traitor spread slander in Aragorn's kingdom. I shall ride for Minas Tirith tomorrow to learn what it is I can do. I will crawl in the gutter in search of a clue if I must."

"That is well, Lord," Elhwestal said, "but Prince Legolas leaves it to you to decide who must go in answer to his summons. He did not request that you yourself come if you feel a greater commitment to your own country."

"Gondor is my country," Faramir stated, "and I would profit from a visit to see my Lord."

"As would we all," said Éowyn gently, "but your duty is to the outpost here in Ithilien. Let me go in answer to the summons of Prince Legolas, instead. I, too, would do whatever possible to find this rebel – this evil – that poisons hearts against my friend, Lord Aragorn."

"I am sure Prince Legolas would thank you, Lady," remarked Elhwestal, "but perhaps the young captains would go in your stead. Aragorn would be grateful for their strength and vigor if need arose for it."

"Though it pains me to admit it," said Faramir, "I feel that is the wisest choice." He rose from his seat and paced the curtained room a few times. The dark-haired Prince then walked to his sons and gripped their shoulders in his strong hands. "Farithil and Arandil, will you rise to this task and carry your father's honor to the White City? Will you serve the king as I would, had I not a duty to keep his borders free of orcs?"

"We will, Father," they answered.

"Elrhos," added the Prince, "I know that you, too, would gladly rush to Minas Tirith to serve your king, but I feel you could be of better use here. With my sons gone, the Lady Éowyn and I would be glad of your strength in an unexpected battle. We are not the young warriors we used to be, and our soldiers hold you in high esteem and find inspiration in you."

"Then I will stay, Lord, and continue to purge our fair land of stray orcs and the like."

Finally, a relieved smile bloomed on Elhwestal's ageless features. "This is well, indeed!" he said. "My confidence grows that this evil in Gondor will be vanquished, now that we have two proud and mighty young lads from the line of the Stewards on our side. Surely it is a sign."

Lanithriel fought to control her breathing.  Ire and aggravation burned hotter within her with each passing moment.  She could not believe how she was being ignored.  "Friend elf," she said, gritting her teeth, "I, too, could be of service to the Lord Aragorn.  I am a daughter of the Stewards and I wish to offer my life in defense of Gondor and the White City."

Elhwestal fixed his bright azure eyes on her. "Dearest Lanithriel, Gondor and her allies are honored by your bravery, but I fear the consent you need is from your father."

Faramir's face was still with contemplation. Elrhos, however, shifted anxiously on the pine bench.

"Lord Faramir," he addressed the prince, "sweet Elbereth knows it is not my place to intervene, but I fear for the Lady Lanithriel." She clenched her fists and glanced toward the wall in exasperation. Elrhos went on, "She is brave, indeed, but at times one may be too brave for one's own well-being."

"Are you certain it is _my_ well-being you are thinking of?" Lanithriel demanded, leaping from her seat.

"Lanithriel!" exclaimed Éowyn, "You will lower your voice!"

"Again, you treat me as though I were a child! You think me unable even to look after myself! You all of you think I should be in the charge of a wet nurse, where I will be safe from nasty orcs and sharp swords! Is that not true, Captain Elrhos?"

"It is true that I desire your safety, Lady," he answered calmly, "but of all gathered here you are least in need of a wet nurse."

Lanithriel looked directly to Faramir. "Then release me from this cage."

At those words, Éowyn's eyes went wide. She glanced to her husband's face, but it betrayed no emotion as he returned his daughter's gaze.  Lanithriel stormed once more from the room.

"It seems we have managed to awaken the wrath of Lanithriel twice this eve," said Arandil, smiling faintly.

"Still," said Faramir, "it does not change the fact that I am constantly terrified for her. Perhaps that is why I schooled her so carefully in the ways of the hunt and the woods." He walked slowly to the curtain, which had been thrown slightly ajar by Lanithriel's passing. He looked out toward the rushing of the falls and the silver mist that billowed around them. "I would not fault anyone here for thinking me an awful tyrant, but I would rather be a tyrant than suffer the loss of my only daughter. I need not remind anyone here that she is my youngest child, as well, and I cannot look upon her without the memory of her as a babe in my arms springing to mind. It pains me to keep her captive, especially when she is so adventurous and so clever a woods woman, but forgive myself I never could of one of her adventures snuffed out her life."

"This is no mere adventure," Elhwestal said, watching the prince. "I know full well the danger that awaits all who are willing to help the search for Minas Tirith's bane. I would guard Lanithriel with my life if you allowed her to accompany us to the White City, as I will Arandil and Farithil."

"I thank you, friend elf," said Faramir, turning away from the curtain, "I have great faith in your strength, but still I must say no. At the least, I must consult my dreams before any more decisions are made. Lanithriel will weather this anger of hers eventually."

"For the sake of all, I hope it will be so," smiled Elhwestal, rising from the table.

Farithil followed him, "Shall we leave with the dawn, then?"

"Yes," answered the elf, "when first light streams over the mountains, we will depart for Minas Tirith."

"For Minas Tirith!" The group replied together, each placing a fist to his or her breast and giving a small bow to the elf. Elhwestal returned the bow and ducked from the room.

"I will see that the servants find Elhwestal proper accommodations," said Éowyn, and she, too, made her exodus.

Arandil and Farithil bade their father and their fellow captain good night and departed for their quarters. It was late in the evening and they wished to store up as much rest as possible before the journey across the great river. Faramir called for one of the servants to clear the table of the evening meal, wished Elrhos untroubled sleep, and headed out for the main stair to receive a last report from the sentries. Elrhos shouldered his sword and stepped toward the curtain, drawing aside the heavy green cloth. Suddenly he collided with…

Lanithriel.

She stumbled back a few paces, her face painted with a look of shock to find him still there.

"My lady! Forgive me!" cried Elrhos, offering his hand. "I heard not your approach."

"Nor did I hear you, Captain," she said, brushing herself off self-consciously. Her cheeks were aflame with embarrassment and she did not meet his eyes. "In my anger I was careless, I see. I…uh…well, I…came to get my, uh, bow. I discovered I had left it behind."

Elrhos glanced behind him and saw the longbow resting against the far wall. He rushed to retrieve it and returned it to Lanithriel. "Here," he said. "It is a fine bow."

"Crafted it was by Prince Legolas himself."

"There are not many such bows, then."

"No," Lanithriel answered quietly. Silence crept over them and they stood awkwardly in the entrance of the recess.

"I beg you not to do it," Elrhos said suddenly.

"I am sure I do not know what you mean, Captain." Lanithriel kept her eyes fastened to the stone floor.

"Do not try to pretend you know not of what I speak. I know your mind, lady, and I know you would leave Ithilien tonight under cover of darkness. Though you would go to Minas Tirith with fair intent – to aid Lord Aragorn in the search for the evil Maia – you have already been commanded to stay."

Lanithriel brought her eyes up to his. Azure lightning flashed in front of their stars. "If my father, the Lord Faramir, were surrounded by orcs and he commanded you to leave his side and flee from the battle, would you obey him?"

"I…could not."

"You see? I know why I am ordered to stay behind from this quest. I know the danger in this task. But everything ever worth doing was fraught with peril and risk to the lives of those who would be heroes. It is time for me to weave my own hero's tale. My heart tells me that what strength I posses is needed at the King's side more than it is needed here."

"I understand you," the captain said, "but I caution you to listen not always to the counsel of the heart, for it will drag you sometimes into great anguish."

Elrhos's eyes glistened wetly in the firelight, like the surfaces of twin oceans of torment. Lanithriel then caught a true glimpse of his pain, and a sudden gentle light settled on her face. Some of her sternness melted away as tears began to shimmer in her eyes, as well. Ever so slowly, as if unsure of what her hand was doing, she reached up and touched his cheek. His usual sturdiness gave way to trembling as her smooth, pale fingers traced his jaw.

"I- I'm sorry…" she whispered. "I would not have you care for me so. I would not have things…the way they are."

"It is no fault of your own," Elrhos murmured into her palm. "I only wish for your happiness."

Lanithriel let her hand fall to her side. The tender glow receded from her face as she gave a weak smile. "Until we heard the message from Legolas," she said softly, "I thought that my happiness lay in Ithilien. But I am no longer sure that happiness is a place," she held his gaze, "or even a person. Perhaps happiness is a hope in things yet to come. I cannot know until I arrive in Gondor to meet this task."

"Then go," said Elrhos. "But tell me that you will try to use caution – that you will not plunge headfirst into danger. I…feel…that you have some great purpose yet to fulfill in Middle Earth. Gondor will need you before long."

Lanithriel frowned, perplexed, but she did not pursue the matter. "I will try," she said. "The Lord Faramir does not raise fools."

The young woman turned and, gripping her bow, left the room. "No," Elrhos said to the night air, "only heroes."

**Chapter Three**

But for the wet whisper of Henneth Annun, the night was dark and silent. Lanithriel, working stealthily in her quarters, pulled on a pair of hunter's gloves to guard against the sharp cold. She stuffed a few changes of clothes and some dried strips of meat into a rucksack and strapped on her weapons. She grabbed her longbow from where she had leaned it at the entrance to her cave and stepped out into the wider caverns.

She knew that even though most of the household would be asleep, as it was several hours from morning, a few guards still patrolled the refuge. She moved through the caves like a wraith in brown, tan, and soft green, pausing at every entrance to listen for footsteps. At length, she made her way to the main stair and took a last glance behind her to make sure no one had seen her flight from her quarters. The darkness was void of everything but shadows.

She hoped that Captain Elrhos remained the only one who knew of her plan to leave for Minas Tirith. She meant to arrive in the White City long before her brothers and the small band of soldiers that would travel with them. She could eat lightly while still astride her horse, Herefara, and ride without stopping to rest. _If the Valar smile upon me,_ she thought, _I may be there by __noon__ on the morrow._

Lanithriel shouldered her pack and started down the steps, careful not to let her boots create an echo on the stone. A stray beam of milky moonlight caught the back of her straw-colored head as she disappeared beyond the curve of the rock.

The long, lean figure of Elhwestal emerged from the shadows across from the main stair. His blue eyes gleamed in the gloom as he watched the slender form of Lanithriel disappear down the stairwell.

"I am reminded," he murmured with a quiet smile, "of a certain other maiden who ran beneath a helm of secrecy in search of glory."

"Death and glory," said Elrhos, walking up from behind the elf.

"But the Lady Éowyn did not find death, did she?" Elhwestal said. "She slew the Lord of the Nazgul, avenged her King, and lived to tell the tale. It would seem that she was meant to ride to battle."

"Yes, but that does not make the burden easier to bear."

"Lanithriel is young and from a line of great men. She will bear the burden well."

"I meant for me," said Elrhos. "I know not how well I will bear it."

Elhwestal turned his gentle smile to the captain's forlorn, stony face. "Despair not, my friend, you will heal. Only elvenkind can perish from a broken heart."

Elrhos's eyes locked onto Elhwestal's. "Did you not know?" At the elf's puzzled look, he laughed dryly. "I am half-elven. My mother, Ellindë, was from the race of the Eldar." The captain lifted his dark hair, which was fastened back in an intricate braid, away from his ear. Alas, the tip of the ear came to a graceful point. "Never in the course of my long-extended life," continued Elrhos, "have I ever fallen ill, nor have I yet suffered the effects of aging that men do. But I fear my death is nearer than ever it was before."

"Because you cannot long bear to have the light of Lady Lanithriel's face out of your sight?"

The captain nodded. "It will be seen how long I can bear it."

"You are brave not to hinder her going, then, brother. I wonder what she would think if she knew you allowed her to depart, alone, even though the pain of it might kill you."

"It gladdens my heart a little to have at last someone here in Ithilien who understands," sighed Elrhos.

"Have you hidden your lineage from the Lord Faramir and his family?" asked Elhwestal.

"I have hidden it from whomever I could, for the one who passed on her elven blood to me does not bring me pride. At the ending of the Third Age, my mother, who had the gift of foresight, had a vision of the undying lands where the Valar dwell. She loved the bliss and beauty she saw in her vision more than she loved my honored father and she longed to join her kin in their long sea voyage to the Blessed Realm. She forsook my father, leaving him to wallow in sorrow until he fell ill and died. That was long ago, in Rivendell, where not even the healing powers of the elves could save him."

"Then perhaps I am mistaken," Elhwestal said softly, "and men do die of broken hearts."

"I have ever believed it so," replied Elrhos, his face grown as solemn as rock.

"How long has it been ere you came to be in the service of the prince, in Ithilien?" asked the elf.

"Not long. Not more than five winters."

Elhwestal sighed, gripping the captain's shoulder reassuringly. "Well, brother, you may be half-elven, but you are also part mortal man – you need rest as well as Farithil and Arandil. At dawn we must face Lord Faramir with the news of his daughter's escape. It must be made known that she is, for now, safe and that she left of her free will. Her life is no longer in anyone's hands but her own."

The two headed back into the rear caves toward their respective quarters, but before they parted ways, Elhwestal had one more question for the captain.

"Exactly how old are you, then?"

Elrhos smiled. "I am nearly one thousand years of age, friend."

Elhwestal chuckled, "Even I had not the faintest idea!"

Their soft laughter faded as it drifted to the arched ceilings of the caves.

**Chapter Four**

            Herefara bore Lanithriel swiftly south through the woods of Ithilien. Like a nimble white doe the horse wove a path through the curious trees and leapt over fallen logs. The young woman on his back crouched forward, grim and alert, as she clutched his silky mane in her fingers. They made barely a sound as they followed the song of the Anduin toward the ancient city of Osgiliath.

When pearly streamers of dawn first broke over the Ephel Duath, Lanithriel had already turned away from the east. In the lonesome gray hours of early morning she slowed Herefara to a walk and broke her nightlong fast. She watched with eagerness the snow-capped peak of Mindolluin grow ever so slightly nearer in the distance. Below it she knew was nestled Minas Tirith, city of stone, to which the sweet call of duty, honor, and adventure beckoned her. _I come,_ she sang inwardly, breathing deeply of the fresh, chill breeze that danced past. _With the dawn of a new and glorious day, I come._ For the first time in her life, she felt as free and unbound as an eagle lord pushing off from his lofty mountain perch to soar over his snowy kingdom.

The locks of Lanithriel's shoulder-length hair whipped and bounced beneath her simple, circlet crown of silver as she dismounted. She wiped the remains of her breakfast off on her tunic before she pulled it over her head and set it aside. She rummaged through her rucksack for the one and only dress she had packed. When she found it, she pulled it out as delicately as possible, for it was an exquisite gown of shimmering silver cloth that billowed as lightly as cloud. Carefully, Lanithriel slipped it on over her smallclothes and then removed her boots and breeches. For her feet she had brought a pair of slender silver slippers to match her regal gown. She would ride into Osgiliath and then Minas Tirith as the person she was first and foremost – the daughter of a prince.

The young woman stuffed her hunter's attire back into the rucksack until it bulged. She then thrust her foot into Herefara's stirrup and lifted herself into the ornate saddle.

"Osgiliath," she announced to the waxing morning, "prepare to welcome Lanithriel, the Silver Lady of Ithilien."

Proud Herefara bolted forward at these words, without any further urging from his rider. He raced, unbidden, the entire distance to the gates of the city spanning the Great River. They were permitted to pass through without any argument, for the guards and citizens saw in her face the dignity and beauty of the line of the Stewards, and they knew her to be Faramir's kin.

Once Lanithriel had passed through the Citadel of the Stars, she hastened Herefara toward Minas Tirith. Farms and green hillsides flew past in a lush, rolling blur. To her left, in the south, the young woman glimpsed briefly the fortress that had once housed her father and his White Company, Ithilost – Bastion of the Moon. The sun slid radiantly along its sturdy turrets and battlements, but the brightest fortification in all of Gondor was just ahead.

At last, as the sun lifted from the horizon, Lanithriel came to the Great Gates in Othram, the City Wall. Wrought of bright steel and mithril they were and they caught the morning sunlight like a flawless mirror, so that all who stood near would have been blinded had they gazed too long upon the white shine of their perfection. Upon the doors expert silversmiths had forged the splendid emblem of the white tree in full bloom, like brilliant Telperion of old, and never would it suffer any dent from enemy blows, so skilled was its craftsmanship.

Lanithriel raised her forearm to shield her eyes from the gleam as the gate-guards called down to her, "Who goes there?"

"Lanithriel Moon-Garland, daughter of Prince Faramir of all Ithilien!" she shouted back, squinting.

"Then by all means, enter!" answered one of the guards, signaling for someone in the gatehouse to open the doors. With a chest-rattling groan, they swung slowly inward and Herefara, fearless as always, strode right through.

The road swept around to the left and led Lanithriel past sprawling homesteads, near which the scent of spit-roasted meat and wildflowers swirled beneath her nostrils. She glanced upward, craning her neck to view the sparkling embrasure of the bastion of stone that split all the walls of the city save the outermost. The vast outcropping of rock looked to Lanithriel like the sharp stone keel of a mountainous ship.

After passing through the southeastern-facing gates in the next wall, the music of a thousand clear, gushing fountains greeted the young woman's ears. With it came the sound of children laughing and sweet birdsong. The road began to be paved in slick white marble and it was lined on both sides with stately mansions, flowering courtyards, and open emerald lawns. Children ran and played in the street and on the lawns before they were called in to breakfast. Amidst all this cheer, contentment, and loveliness, however, Lanithriel noticed one thing that seemed amiss. Children were about the only humans to be seen outside the houses. There was not a single man or woman in sight who looked to be a day over fifteen.

Lanithriel reined Herefara to a halt and dismounted. She waved to a girl who was watching her from a distance and motioned for her to come near. The girl, whom Lanithriel guessed to be about six years of age, walked up, a little wary of the white horse.

"Where are your parents?" Lanithriel asked, "Where have all the men and women gone?"

"Don't you know, milady?" she asked in a small, sweet voice. "They are afraid to step out, nowadays, for neighbor has been set against neighbor."

"Neighbor has been set against neighbor?" Suddenly, Lanithriel remembered what Elhwestal had said about one of the Maiar spreading deceit and distrust in the city. She had not thought it would have spread this far already, nor had such a noticeable effect. "How long has it been like this, with all the doors and windows shut and the men and women behind them?"

"Only a little while, milady, but 'tis long enough! At first, we children thought it was funny how the older people would bicker so and take sides like we do, but it's no fun no more!"

"No fun, indeed," Lanithriel smiled. "They should take a lesson from you little ones and learn to forget their differences."

"Yes, milady."

"You are a good girl," Lanithriel said. "You have my thanks for answering my meddlesome questions."

The little girl said nothing, but clasped her hands behind her back and twisted from side to side restlessly. Lanithriel noticed that she was staring rather intently at Herefara, who had bent his head to a clump of grass by the side of the road.

"Would you like to pet him?" the young woman asked.

The little girl's eyes went wide, "Oh no, milady! I wouldn't dare!"

"Why not?" Lanithriel grinned, "He is truly a jolly fellow, when you get to know him."

"He will bite me!"

"I rather doubt that, I rode him all the way here from Ithilien and he did not bite me once."

The girl shuffled a little closer to the horse's huge head and gingerly reached out her tiny hand. Herefara's ears twitched and his depthless black eyes rolled toward her. She hesitated.

"Go on, it's all right," urged Lanithriel.

The girl then thrust her fingers into the silvery tuft of mane between the horse's ears and scratched his head lightly. He blew air out between his thick lips and swung his great nose toward her to nuzzle her belly. The little girl gasped and then erupted in giggles of vast amusement. Lanithriel could not help herself – she, too, burst into laughter. So on that morning in Minas Tirith, a rare sound was heard, for when Lanithriel laughed it was like the floating, crisp tolling of golden bells.

"He likes you!" cried Lanithriel, stroking Herefara's muscular flank.

"May I walk him, milady?" implored the little girl, breathless with chortling.

"You may if you will show me where I can keep him for a while," answered the young woman. "I am to stay in the city for some time and he cannot wander about with me. Besides, he needs his rest."

The girl nodded vigorously, her sandy locks of hair shaking on her shoulders. "Come, Herefara, I will show you where you can live." She took the leather reins in her little hands and started off toward the next gate, her bare feet emitting faint _pat-pat_s on the marble beside the ringing clops of Herefara's hooves.

Lanithriel followed the girl all the way to the sixth circle of the city, all the while staring with awe-struck eyes at the grandeur above, below, and around her. As they ascended, she saw more grown men and women, but still they were few. Most of them strode quickly past her in cagey silence, keeping their eyes down or directly ahead. It pained her to see such coldness in so beautiful a place.

Finally the girl halted and pointed to the entrance of the stables. It consisted of a pair of sturdy wooden doors, framed by an intricate arch of marble. On each side of the doors was a horse head carved of the same marble and a finely wrought lamp of iron. A pair of guards in the black and silver livery of their rank exited through the doors, a longhaired gray hound trailing them.

"In there, milady," replied the girl, stroking Herefara's knee with her little fingers. "They keep all the big horses in there."

"I thank you," Lanithriel told the girl. She turned and reached into her horse's saddlebag for her coin pouch. She found it and extracted a small, gold piece. "Here," she said, proffering it to the girl, "for your services."

"Oh, no, milady! I could not!"

"I am the Lady Lanithriel, and my father was once the steward of this whole city. As the child of the once ruler of Minas Tirith, I hereby command you to take this gold piece as a token of my appreciation." Lanithriel extended the coin and gave the girl a sly wink.

The little girl giggled and took the coin, slipping it into a pocket of her brown smock, but her smile soon drooped.

"What troubles you?" asked Lanithriel.

"Will…will I see Herefara again, milady?" Her big eyes blinked sadly up at the white beast's head.

"Ah," said Lanithriel, "I see. Here must I strike a bargain with you. I will leave Herefara here in these stables, but only if you can give me your word you will come and visit him each day." She bent down close to the little girl's ear, "You must see to it that he is properly cared for."

The girl smiled, her eyes brimming with delight. "Oh, yes, milady! This I will do! Each day, as you say."

"That is well," said Lanithriel, "now be off!"

The girl spun about and skipped back down the marble road, her sand-colored hair swinging this way and that. Suddenly, Lanithriel called after her, "By what name are you called?"

"Nimloth!" she shouted back over her shoulder.

"Nimloth," repeated the young woman. The shadow of an amused smile crossed her lips. "Nimloth guided me."

With that, she turned and led Herefara through the great wooden doors into a square yard of gravel. Here there were more guards walking their steeds, training foals, and conversing among themselves. Young boys, probably stable grooms, hurried back and forth across the yard, running errands for their lords or ladies.

"Lest my eyes deceive me," called one of the guards, "that fine beast is kin to the Mearas!"

"That he is," answered Lanithriel, standing tall and rolling back her shoulders. "He was a gift from my uncle, King Éomer of the Mark."

"To what do we owe this honor, Lady?" asked one of the stable hands.

Lanithriel was suddenly at a loss for how to explain her presence. "I…am here on behalf of my father, Prince Faramir, to see the Lord Aragorn and his queen," was all she could find to say.

"Welcome, then, Lady," said the stable boy. The guards returned to their talk and most eyes turned away from her. She discreetly released a relieved sigh and followed the boy into the stables at the far side of the gravel yard.

The stables were expansive, built of fine oak. They already housed numerous horses, but there was a spacious stall at the north end that was vacant. Lanithriel told the groom that it would serve Herefara well. The boy saw to the horse's needs and pranced away shortly thereafter, no doubt remembering another task to see to. Lanithriel, however, lingered by her stout white mount for a moment.

"I know you detest a pen, old friend, but it might aid you to call to mind green fields and rolling hills. I regret that I must leave you, at least for now." Herefara huffed and the young woman slapped his shoulder affectionately. She pushed away from the wooden stall and started down the walkway back toward the door.

Before she knew what was upon her, the gate of the stall next to Herefara's erupted in splinters with a deafening bang. Behind the gate, the massive black beast in the stall had begun to kick the walls in a wild fury. Its crazed eyes were dark orbs of panic as the horse reared and screamed, trying to pound its way out of the stall. It looked to be seized with some sudden madness. Some unseen threat was causing the animal profound terror. It reared again and lunged at a shocked Lanithriel, its heavy hooves passing so close to her head she felt their wind against her cheek. She stumbled back, unable to summon her hunter's reflexes…

And two strong hands caught her. One went about her waist and the other beneath her elbow. A feeling of mind-numbing security enveloped Lanithriel – she could have fallen asleep right there amidst the chaos. A commanding yet musical voice belonging to the hands was speaking above her, calming the distraught horse. She could feel the soothing vibrations of it through the solid chest she was suddenly leaning against.

"_Nai lye hir-uva este!_" the voice said.

The great black horse kicked once more, dipped its head defiantly, and then went still. Lanithriel was astounded. What had been a frenzied, destructive monster a moment before was now a creature as calm as though it stood in a quiet forest glade. She wondered what manner of person could wield such power with only words. Clearly, it was someone fluent in the High Speech.

Abruptly, Lanithriel realized she had better turn about and thank the man who had caught her. His embrace had filled her with such ease and comfort that she had forgotten for an instant how awkward this meeting was. Flushing slightly with embarrassment, Lanithriel found her feet and twisted around.

"I fear I must explain myse-" she began, but gasped. She stood staring openly, her breast robbed completely of any breath.

Lanithriel found herself facing the fairest of any man that ever walked Ilúvatar's earth. Tall and straight as a young tree he was, broad of shoulder and mighty of arm. Regal and dashing was the beauty of his face, which was crowned by sleek raven hair. He wore a mantle of dazzling blue that would put the unclouded summer sky to shame. His piercing eyes put the mantle to shame.

The young woman felt as though an icy hand had gripped her heart, and then ripped it asunder. If her cheeks had been rosy with embarrassment before, now they burned with angst. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, a thousand apologies and excuses she had to make, but every word she had ever learned had fled her mind. An unfamiliar, aching emotion screamed through her veins, threatening to take her to her knees. She had a vague, haunting idea of what this emotion might be, but she would not allow herself to admit it.

"Do you bear any hurt, Celebrin?" the man in blue asked, once again reaching to support her.

"B-b-by what name did you call me?" stammered Lanithriel, ignoring the question.

He sighed and smiled and Lanithriel was reminded of the blinding glory of the Great Gates. "I called you Celebrin, for you are clad all in silver like an afternoon of spring rain."

Lanithriel cast her eyes downward. "You are mighty in speech, lord," she said. "Flattery flows as sweet as honey from thy lips, but so do words that soothe a frightened beast."

"I flatter you not," protested the striking man. "I speak naught but truth when I say that any afternoon - whether one walks in rain or shine - would be made the fairer for your company."

"Am I to take that as an invitation?" the young woman asked. A pleased grin tugged at one corner of her mouth.

"That is my wish," he replied, giving a slight bow, "unless my lady prefers the unique fragrance of the stables to a stroll in the morning sunlight."

Before she could help herself, Lanithriel released another chiming laugh. She knew at once it should not have come so easily, for it was rare that her heart was light enough for laughter, and rarer still that she allowed herself to appear frivolous. It was almost as though some external power had fed her mirth and drawn the laughter out of her. The feeling left her with a look of surprised puzzlement.

Strangely, the man in blue wore a knowing smile. "It startles you to find that there is a living, beating heart within you and that it knows how to be merry?"

Lanithriel frowned ponderously. "Yes, I…suppose it does."

"Then I must find more ways in which to surprise you, lady. I shall find my way through the maze of thy stern and courageous heart."

"Do you not wish to know the true name of the one to whom the heart belongs?" she asked.

"I wish for that more than I wish to see the sun rise tomorrow," the man said softly. The young woman thought her heart might hammer its way through her chest.

"I am Lanithriel, daughter of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien," she told him.

"A good name, that," he said, "yet I confess it captures but half the beauty of its owner."

Lanithriel glanced about the stable, struggling to determine if she had walked into a dream world. Surely what was happening could not be real.

"Do we…still walk among the waking?" she asked, "Or do I owe the honor of such a compliment to one who dwells in the hazy land beyond sleep?"

"Nay, lady," he replied gently, drawing closer, "but I will make it so if that be your desire."

_This is most certainly a dream,_ Lanithriel thought, _but I am determined never to wake from it._ She answered him, "I desire only a name to which I can pledge my service, lord, for you have been more than kind this day."

"The only name I can give is Turandir," he said, "but offer me not your service. Instead, promise me that I may hear your laugh in many days after this, for that would bring me greater joy."

Lanithriel's face was peaceful as she answered, "That, Lord Turandir, is a promise I can give no man."

He said nothing in reply, but the meaningful smile he had donned beforehand returned to his perfect, graceful mouth.

Perplexed, Lanithriel beckoned to a groom who had just entered the stable. As he approached, she requested that he remove her possessions from Herefara's saddle and take them to a room where she could board.

"Take especial care with the bow," she admonished the groom. "Crafted it was by the skilled and powerful hands of Prince Legolas Greenleaf. Nowhere in Middle-Earth does its like exist." At this, the young boy nodded vigorously and went to see to this task.

"Will the lady walk with me now?" inquired Turandir.

"I will," said Lanithriel, and she took the arm that he offered as they strode from the stable. "Lord," she said as they crossed the gravel yard and found the street, "I heard the speech of the high elves upon your tongue earlier, and I need not add that you are more…blessed…in appearance than most mortal men. Surely you owe such knowledge and beauty to a proud and ancient heritage."

"Ah…no," said Turandir, "in truth, I cannot speak of it, lady."

"Oh," Lanithriel said, "then Minas Tirith is not the city of your birth?"

Turandir smiled shadily. "Nay."

The young woman chose not to question him further, but instead let him lead her toward the tunnel to the Citadel, since that was where her errand would have taken her anyway.

"Lady," Turandir began, "there is no doubt that my unwillingness to speak of my…lineage…causes you great unease-"

"Oh, no, lord," she started to say, but he silenced her with a gesture.

"Yes, I know that it must," he continued. "Sadly, mend that I cannot, at least not this moment. But hear this – I would confess one thing to you." She stopped to listen to him. "You must wonder also how it was that I came to be in the stables at the very moment the startled horse caused you to stumble backward." She nodded. "It was because I followed thee all the way from the second wall."

"What?"

"I was standing atop the wall, surveying the arrival of morning, when the wind carried your laugh to my undeserving ears. I turned at the sound and, seeing you, said to myself, 'Never in Middle-Earth was heard the pealing of sweet bells, if not this day in Minas Tirith.'

"Proud you looked beside your warhorse, and fair, and I was compelled to follow you to gain a closer look. I dashed from the wall and came after you and the child it took you not three moments to befriend. It was in this way that I came to be…in the right place at the right time, as it were."

"This is troubling to me, Lord," Lanithriel told him, "for I was trained in the watchful ways of a hunter by Prince Faramir himself. I should have discovered you as you traced my path, yet it was not until you caught me in the stables that I learned of your presence."

"Blame not yourself, lady," Turandir said, "for I have received training, as well. Practiced am I in the skill that the elves are renowned for of moving about undetected. You are not the first whom I have stolen up to unnoticed."

"That is well," remarked Lanithriel, "…I think." Turandir chuckled softly.

As they walked, a whispering breeze brought to them the enticing scent of leaves and blooming shrubs. The sun warmed Lanithriel's shoulders until her scalp tingled with comfort. The street all about them was quiet – more deserted even than before – and Lanithriel knew she should be alarmed at this. Oddly, however, she felt her spirit giving over to a spreading sense of snug, drowsy peace. She found it increasingly difficult to remember the seriousness of the duty she had come here to fulfill. _It must be the sunshine and sweet air that reassures me,_ she guessed. _I must not be fooled._

"My Lord Turandir," she said aloud, "I neglect the responsibility that I took upon myself when I came here. I tarry foolishly when haste is in order, even though the company with whom I tarry is fair beyond any I have ever known. I must away, ere I am too late and all my efforts come to naught."

"What evil task demands such haste that it snatches you from me when the day is not half over?" Turandir asked.

"For me the day began long ago," answered Lanithriel. "I set out for the White City from Ithilien while the world still slept. I come not to fulfill an evil task, but a task _against_ evil. For safety's sake, I can reveal no more of its nature to you."

"But if you left at a starry hour, then surely by now you are wont of rest and a meal to restore you," replied Turandir, taking her shoulders in his strong hands.

"I am," she said, fighting the impulse to swoon at his touch, "but a warrior and a servant of her nation must sometimes these things put aside. Indeed, she must sometimes put aside _all_ mortal longings for the sake of duty and the side of good, for above those two things she loves nothing."

He scanned her face with his depthless blue eyes. Then he placed his hand to the side of her neck and drew her close so that she stood looking directly up at him, entranced. "More courageous is thy heart than I first perceived," he said at last. "I wish thee good fortune in thy quest, though I lament this parting."

"As shall I," Lanithriel murmured. Turandir's lips were so near to hers that she shared some of his warm breath. She didn't think it was possible, but somehow they moved closer…

"Hail, daughter of Faramir!"

Turandir released Lanithriel as she spun about in answer to the voice that rang out from the mouth of the tunnel. There at the end of the marble street, standing tall in the arch of darkness was Legolas Greenleaf. Clad in soft green he was, and his mighty legs were long. A great longbow that would have been impossible for any but him to draw was hooked over his strapping chest. His shining hair flowed over his shoulders and down his back like a flaxen waterfall. Bright and alert were his blue eyes in his smooth, pale face. He looked even younger than the last time Lanithriel had seen him, when she was a small girl in Ithilien. It was on that occasion years ago that he had made her bow for her as they sat beside the glassy waters of the forbidden pool.

"Timely and welcome is your arrival," said Legolas, "yet you come alone! Has not my messenger and friend, Elhwestal, returned with you?"

"He will, lord," said Lanithriel. "I am sure he follows swiftly behind with my brothers, Arandil and Farithil."

"That is well! My heart is glad at these tidings." The elf stepped up to her and embraced her with the kindness and warmth of one of her own brothers. "Young Lanithriel," he said, pulling back and looking her up and down, "how you have grown since last I saw you in peaceful Ithilien! I see that the tiny hunter I once knew has become a woman proud and fair."

"I am a hunter, still, lord," she replied, "but let me introduce you to my newest acquaintance."

The young woman turned to bring Turandir forward to meet the elf, but he was nowhere to be seen. Not even a corner of his sky blue cloak was visible anywhere along the street, in the nearby courtyards, or in the surrounding houses. He had utterly disappeared.

Lanithriel glanced back to Legolas. "Lord, did you see a tall man in a mantle of blue just a moment ago? Upon my life, he was right here beside me!"

Legolas' pale brow furrowed as he searched the street with his elven eyes. He then turned his baffled frown to her. "Lanithriel, friend, I fear your journey has made you perilously weary. I see no one."

"But, my lord, his name was Turandir and I walked with him the whole distance from the stables!"

"Turandir?" Legolas' frown darkened to a glower. There seemed to be a thousand gems of swift thought spinning behind his eyes. After a while, he said, "Nay, I have never met any man by that name. Are you sure you are well, young one?"

Lanithriel's heart sank to her boots as her gaze searched the empty street once more. "Fit as a halfling's fiddle, my lord. As surely as I am Faramir's daughter, he was here with me when you called."

Legolas laughed and threw his arm around her slender shoulders, turning her toward the tunnel. "And as surely as I am Thranduil's son, I saw no one there! But alas, you remind of a dear friend of mine that I think you should meet ere we all gather before the Lord Aragorn. Her name is Lomëwen and she is peculiar, too."

Lanithriel sighed exasperatedly, causing Legolas to laugh the harder. They ascended into the lamp-lit tunnel where his merriment echoed as they headed for the seventh gate and the Court of the Fountain.

**Chapter Five**

After they were admitted into the Citadel, Lanithriel turned with the prince of Mirkwood to the right, onto a lane between tall buildings of stone. They took several more turns before reaching a house that butted up against the seventh wall on the north side. Legolas leapt up the marble steps to the carven wood door as lightly as a cat.

"This is where Mithrandir and Master Peregrin the halfling stayed before the Siege," Legolas told her as he raised his pale fist to knock.

Lanithriel nodded, but was soon distracted by the awesome sight of Ecthelion, the White Tower, jutting like a snowy spike hundreds of feet into the air above them. Eagles circled as faint black specks around its soaring tip.

"Lanithriel," Legolas called her to attention, "this is the Lady Lomëwen, daughter of Arwen Undomiel and Aragorn King."

Lanithriel gazed up the steps at a young woman who appeared to be not much older than herself. The beauty of Arwen, her mother, was apparent in the girl's rich, dark hair and elegantly elongated ears. Her kind blue eyes, however, and the nobility of the sea-kings of old that was on her brow spoke unmistakably of the line of Elessar. She wore the kind of hunter's garb that Lanithriel was fond of and hanging on the wide belt about her waist was a great sword. The name _Gildring_ was etched into its black leather scabbard.

There was one feature that Lomëwen bore that Lanithriel found inexplicable. There was a radiant streak of light gold in her hair, running from just to the right of the peak of her forehead nearly down to the level of her elbows. The morning sunlight played along it as she rested in a self-assured stance in the doorway.

Lanithriel shifted to match Lomëwen's confident posture as she announced, "I am honored to meet you. I am Lanithriel Moon-Garland, daughter of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien. I have come to aid in the search for the enemy of your father that hides in this city."

"Then no less is the honor I feel in meeting you," replied Lomëwen. "You seem to be the manner of person with whom I might get along. Therefore, I shall allow you to come inside."

"You are most gracious toward us humble beggars," remarked Legolas, his musical voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I said Lanithriel could come inside, not thee, Master Mockery," answered Lomëwen, grinning now.

"Take care, young one, or I shall receive that as a threat and a challenge!" laughed the green-garbed elf.

"Then challenge it shall be, lord!" jested the dark-haired girl. "Though I know not how thou wilt defeat me with a mere bow at such short range. I have faithful Gildring at my side!"

"Forgive me when I say that Gildring would not suffice, Lady Lomëwen," Lanithriel replied suddenly, "for I would send for my bow and you would have _two_ mighty archers to contend with. Legolas Greenleaf is my lord and friend – whoso would contend with him must contend with Faramir's kin, as well. His enemy ever shall be my enemy."

Lomëwen's grin evolved into a slight, unruffled smile. "Aye," she said, "I think we will get along just fine."

At that moment, yet another elf came to the doorway. The only trait she had that revealed her race were her delicately pointed ears, for she was far shorter than any of the Eldar that Lanithriel had ever seen. As the elf stood in the doorway she seemed as slight, hard, and deadly as a steel knife. Her eyes shone out of her utterly ageless face like two sapphires catching starlight. Fine, white-gold hair streamed down her shoulders, barely concealing a pair of white knives strapped across her back. When she moved into the sun, mysterious elven ornaments gleamed from around her neck, wrists, and fingers.

"So," she said, "are the lot of you going to hold a great gathering on the doorstep, or would you prefer to come inside?"

A grin that was very nearly mischievous lit Legolas' countenance. As Lanithriel glanced from his face to that of the other light-haired elf, the realization dawned on her. It was now clear why she had felt that the elf in the doorway reminded her of someone. So similar were Legolas and the slim creature beside Lomëwen that Lanithriel was sure they could be nothing else but twins.

"Greetings, sister," Legolas replied. "Have you become queen of all this city so early, or have you merely advanced to Princess of the doorstep?"

His sister donned a cool smile and folded her arms, "Well, for the time being, I must be princess of something. The doorstep will do just fine. Now, I do believe you are standing in my kingdom. Would you be so kind as to remove yourself?"

"That I will, for I have not the time to tarry here and jest with you all day. It is my hope that you and Lomëwen will be the escorts of Lady Lanithriel for the rest of the day."

"In this we will prove true," Lomëwen assured him, and she seemed suddenly very sincere and kind. Lanithriel began to feel as though she were naught but a tiny babe in comparison to these strong, brave women of the city. She masked her apprehension with calm.

"Indeed," agreed Legolas' twin, "we will look after Faramir's daughter well enough, but I cannot promise she will survive the feast tonight."

A groan escaped the Lady Lomëwen, who then buried her face in her long, slender hand. Lanithriel frowned in perplexity.

"Lomëwen cares not for royal banquets nor any occasion that requires her to be clad in a dress," smiled Legolas. "I would sooner challenge her to a duel than present her with such a garment."

"Then get on with you!" cried Legolas' sister teasingly. "For if you speak much longer of royal gatherings my friend shall be avenged on us all!"

"Very well!" Legolas laughed, trotting down the steps and starting down the marble lane. "I must return to the king's side. Farewell, Lanithriel!"

"Farewell, friend Legolas, I hope we shall meet again soon!" she called after him.

"We shall – this evening!" The elf answered, then darted out of sight.

Lanithriel turned to face Lomëwen and the elf at the top of the steps. She slowly filled her lungs with air, then said to the twin of Legolas, "I don't believe we have been introduced, friend, I am Lanithriel Moon-Garland."

"And I am Princess Kiril Greenleaf, wife of the prince of this city. I endeavor to deserve the title of "friend," though, for you seem as though you are nearly as skilled with your weapons as I am with mine."

"Do not trouble yourself with Kiril," laughed Lomëwen, gesturing for Lanithriel to enter the house. "She will say whatever it is that comes to her mind the swiftest, and she thinks intimidation to be great sport."

"Three thousand years will make one an expert at any sport," Lanithriel said, finding the good humor of these two women to be contagious.

"Well said," remarked Kiril, "I am impressed by your knowledge of my age."

"'Tis not your age I had knowledge of," Lanithriel said, "but your brother's. I have known Prince Legolas for many years, but I knew not that he had a twin sister."

"I shall have to speak to him of this," smiled Kiril, stepping aside to allow Lanithriel to enter.

Lomëwen led the two of them across a hall to a wide carven stair. They ascended the steps and came to a light, airy room. It was comfortably sized with three narrow, north-facing windows. On either side of the room were curtained alcoves with the curtains drawn aside so Lanithriel could see a bed and washbasin within each. Against one wall, beneath a wall hanging of spun gold, was a wooden bench. A similarly crafted table and chairs stood in the middle of the white room.

Out of one of the alcoves strode a proud-looking woman of diminished height. Her lean frame was cloaked in a soft, billowing mantle of mist gray. Strapped about her waist were a number of knives and she wore a small pouch on a silver chain around her neck. Curls the color of dancing flame tumbled against her proud shoulders, except where a curious, sparkling clip on her left brow held the hair away. Shaped like a flowering star it was and it boasted green, yellow, and blue gems. Her laughing green eyes in her pale oval face were like patches of new grass in a field of winter's snow. Upon her smooth cheeks were red-gold freckles the color of her hair.

When this third woman's eyes fell on Lanithriel, her sunset-pink lips formed a welcoming smile. "Ah, another ally of the king?"

"Yes, my lady," answered Lanithriel, stepping forward, "I am Lanithriel Moon-Garland of Ithilien."

"You are Faramir's daughter, then," asked the flame-haired woman.

"I am," said Lanithriel, casting her blue eyes downward.

"Why gaze you at the floor?" Kiril questioned her, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

"My father, Prince Faramir, may not be pleased with me this day, for I…"

"Yes?" asked Lomëwen, claiming the other chair. "You what?"

"I fled my own home just yester eve. I arrived in Minas Tirith this morning, when my whole household, no doubt, discovered that I was gone."

"Well, cheers, then!" shouted Aragorn's daughter. "She is a woman after our own hearts, after all!"

Lanithriel's pale brow furrowed as she glanced at each of their fair faces in turn. Seeing the girl's confusion, Kiril explained, "Some of us have committed similar crimes in our past." Her grin was sly as her eyes flicked to Lomëwen.

"I have found good company then, and my heart will be light until my brothers come and force me to return home at my father's command."

"It is my hope that they do nothing of the kind," said Lomëwen, "but if they do, Raen and I would be honored if you would stay with us in this room in the meantime. Master Peregrin and his niece, Mirabella, share the floor above this. Kiril, of course, has her own rooms in the house of the king."

"You are Raen, then, niece of Lord Aragorn?" Lanithriel asked the red-haired woman.

"I am. Aulëcúraen is the full name given me by my mother and father, but friends of the king are my friends and all my friends call me Raen."

"Three persons of royal houses I have met this day and I will be loathe to part ways with each of you." Lanithriel turned and walked slowly to one of the windows. Thin beams of white light speared her slender frame as she approached it and looked out over the curve of the Anduin far below. "Must every goodly thing I have happened upon outside my home be torn from my grasp so soon?"

"I hear much despair in your voice for one so young," replied Raen, moving over to the girl. "From where does it come?"

Lanithriel looked from the regal face of the king's niece to Kiril's and then to Lomëwen's. They returned her gaze calmly. "I know not what urges me to reveal so much to friends whom I have known not one hour yet," she told them. "Perhaps it is because I have never had such friends with whom to share the doubts of my innermost mind." A bird's melancholy song drifted up to the window from a courtyard beneath the Citadel. "You cannot know how I envy the friendship that the three of you so obviously have. Like sisters you seem, and that is a foreign thing to me indeed. Ever have I had naught but trees and a waterfall for companions, and though they are fair to look upon, they did not often answer when I cried to them." Lanithriel's chin dimpled slightly. Her throat tightened as tears climbed slowly into her eyes. "When I told them I was terrified that I would wait long years in the Land of the Moon until I was beyond any chance at valor, I heard nothing. When I told them that each lonely day I _burned_ inside because this maiden body confined me more than a cage of iron bars ever could, I heard nothing. When I wept to them, saying that if only I could be my father's _son_ I could mean something, I heard nothing." Lanithriel's features twisted in anguish as salty droplets began to slip down her cheeks. "All I want is to be a line in a song that is sung for a thousand years. I want to scream my country's name as I chase my enemy into the sea. I want to throw my life in front of an arrow meant for a brother. I want all that is good in the world to prevail, but…" Her voice was choked by a sob as she brought her hand up to cover her face. She went on, "But I will not stand by and hope that it turns out so. I – will – not – stand – by!" Lomëwen and Kiril had risen from their chairs. The three women had moved slightly closer to her. Their eyes shone with moisture but they frowned awkwardly as though trying to hide it. They knew. They understood.

Lanithriel let out a long, shuddering breath. "At least I thought that was all I wanted. A deeper and more painful wound have I now than any I have ever borne because of a strange thing that came about when I was in the stables. I thought I had strayed into a dream, for a man that is surely fairer than any that roams Arda caught me as I stumbled and then walked with me a while in the street afterward. He would tell me nothing of his family or house, but noble and ancient the line of his fathers must be, for he seemed to wield such powers as the Lord Aragorn himself once drew upon. One name he gave – Turandir – and when Prince Legolas beckoned me, he was gone as swiftly as he had appeared…He…" She paused, her eyes wide with pain and confused sorrow as she seemed to stare fixedly at something in her memory.

"Speak, friend," said Lomëwen, her trembling whisper stealing across the marble room eerily. "For once, there are listeners."

Lanithriel's labored breathing was suddenly the only sound in the whole city. The bright morning fell as silent as snow falling on stone. Finally, the girl found words. She pulled them forth softly as her crystal tears ran. "He was…so…beautiful…that when I looked upon him…I think…my heart…_broke_…within me. Raen!" she cried, "Oh, Raen, I would go to the Houses of Healing, for I know I am bleeding, I just cannot say where!" Lanithriel pressed a clenched fist to her chest. "_Surely_ I am bleeding," she whispered, "for my pain is dire. Surely I have been pierced with some dagger, but there is not a mark upon me!"

Raen shook her head, tears rolling from her emerald eyes. "Nay, the mark is not upon you," she said, "but _within_ you. You have been pierced sure enough and your fist is over the wound." Lanithriel glanced down, then looked slowly up, her face now painted with dread at what she would have to accept.

"You now bear the worst of hurts that can be borne," said Kiril, "from which many of stouter heart than thee have bled to death. Love ambushed you this day, and slay you it may."

Lanithriel turned back to the white slit of the window. "I am already slain," she moaned. "When I recall his face, his voice, his touch, I am lost to Middle-Earth. I can almost feel him now…"

"And so you may," Raen said, fingering her silver wedding ring. "And so you may for all time."

**Chapter Six**

            Lanithriel busied herself with organizing the biscuit crumbs on the silver dinner plate before her. Perhaps if she were occupied with this, she would not be tempted to stare too openly at the faces surrounding her.

The oak table of Lord Aragorn was exactly the sort one would find in the house of a mighty king – enormous, solid, and long enough for at least twenty-six guests. But it was not this massive wooden masterpiece that caused Lanithriel to stare to her right and left from time to time, it was the guests. Heroes and lords from all realms, of whom she had heard stories as a child, sat all around her in the flesh. It was no dream, but astounding and inspiring reality. How could one's heart be heavy with worries when so many great allies were together in one place?

At one end of the table, the flawless beauty of Arwen Undomiel, elf-queen of Gondor, humbled all other fair faces gathered. The queen seemed to glow with a milky silver light like an ancient star, but had the smooth, gay face of spring's first white flower. Lithe and graceful she was, like Lúthien of old, and when she spoke her voice drew all to attention.

Opposite Arwen was Aragorn, tall son of the ancient sea-kings, who seemed to command with his very presence. Nobility and mercy sat upon his dark brow and in the company of his friends and companions, his strong smile came easily.

Gimli the jovial dwarf also was there, with a smile blooming amidst his healthy beard. Next to Gimli, as always, was Legolas. Beside Legolas sat the radiant, muscular figure of Raen. To Lanithriel's left were Lomëwen, Galdor, Kiril, and Eldarion, with Narwesta, Fengel, Pippin Took the hobbit, and his brave little niece, Mirabella seated across from them. Many more were the guests, all of them impressive in bearing, lineage, and renown. Lanithriel, however, was the only one of her household present.

"Lady Lanithriel of Ithilien!"

The girl looked up in response to her title.

"Yes, my Lord Aragorn?"

"Pleased we are to have you at this table, sharing this feast among friends. I count myself fortunate that I have a companion such as Master Legolas, who is farsighted not only with his elven eyes, but with his keen mind. I see now that this is a time for all free nations and the rulers that represent them to stand together to defeat the evil that roams my fair streets. Honored we are to have a guest from Ithilien with us. But why do your brothers come not? When Legolas told me he had summoned some from your household, I thought sure they would be among those who answered."

"Aye, 'twas their desire to answer the summons, Lord," Lanithriel replied, unease shadowing her brow. "Many here have already learned that I fled Ithilien without consent from my Lord and Lady, they wished instead for my brothers to journey to Minas Tirith. I have wondered and troubled over why they have not yet arrived, for Henneth Annun is not far from this city by most reckonings."

"No, indeed," said Legolas. "And I doubt that they would tarry long, given the urgency of the message I entrusted to Elhwestal."

"Elhwestal Lightfoot came safely to our realm," Lanithriel told the prince, painfully conscious of all the eyes on her as she spoke. She chose not to mention the tall elf's lengthy encounter with Ithilien's trees – Legolas was not likely to be pleased by this detail. "He made clear," she continued, "how dire are the circumstances here in Minas Tirith, and the importance of serving our king in his need. I know not what causes him and my kin to delay."

"Though it may not rest well with Prince Faramir," Aragorn said to Lanithriel, "I am glad you made haste and came here against his will. And I may have some part in pardoning your 'crime' and reconciling you with him. But I also feel that the watchful eyes and mighty arms of the young brothers of Ithilien would be of great use in these dark days. If they come not through the gates by noontide tomorrow, I shall send out a party to see what has become of them. But for now, do not trouble yourself, Lanithriel. From what I hear tell, resilient are your brothers, and strong, 'tis more than likely they are far from harm."

"Wise are your words, Lord," said Lanithriel respectfully, "and I shall do my best to heed them. Only let me search for the rebel that defies you while I can, for when and if Arandil and Farithil come, they will surely make me to return home for admonishment."

"Very well," announced Aragorn. "Since you are so eager to serve your country and king, I shall not stand in thy way. Verily, I welcome those who are committed to duty and the side of good." At this, Lanithriel's heart swelled elatedly within her. At last, she could be of use and be free to try to conquer her lord's foe. "Some already will be searching tonight, with the gloom of night as their cloak of concealment and secrecy. In this way do we hope to capture the troublesome insurgent or learn of his whereabouts in the city. Think you, Lanithriel, that you could forfeit yet another night of rest to comb the courtyards and doorways for this traitor to Gondor?"

"I know that I could, my king, I must make the most of my time."

"Wise you are to realize this," Legolas said around a bite of steamed squash, "for the lives of men are fleeting, spanning but a moment in the vast array of ages."

There were a few moments of contemplative quiet following the elf's assertion. A few of the guests, whom Lanithriel did not recognize, exchanged comments in hushed tones. Then, Kiril spoke up, smiling.

"Well, now, have you any other gems of wisdom to bestow upon us lesser beings, brother? If so, do bestow them now."

Those gathered chuckled good-naturedly with Legolas as he answered, "Nay, fair sister, but I shall inform you all if I think of any."

"This is all well and good," remarked Gimli suddenly, "but ere anyone is sent to hunt down the king's enemy, we must have at least a small notion of who we hunt for! What guise does he wear? How moves he? By what name is he known?"

"No name, Master Dwarf," answered Arwen, "but we do believe he is one of the Maia of old – sorcerers and servants to the glorious Valar. No other explanation is there for the speed and stealth with which he travels about the city. Cunning is this Maia, as cunning as was Saruman before the downfall his double treason caused him."

"Then, this Maia – will he appear as a bent and aged man in robes, like Saruman and Gandalf?" asked Pippin from behind the mound of sweet cakes on his plate.

"He may," Arwen said in her silvery voice, "but not all Maia chose to clothe themselves in the bodies that the Istari, the wizards, did. Powerful Melian, mother of Lúthien, from whom I am descended, took for herself a form similar to that of the Eldar and Edain. But she was far more beautiful than any elf or man. Before Lúthien was born of Thingol and Melian's love, Melian was of all creatures in Middle-Earth the fairest. When Thingol first looked upon her and heard her sweet singing in the gardens of Lórien, his heart was filled with love and a spell was cast upon him."

Many pairs of eyes had glazed dreamily with Arwen's fair speech, but Lanithriel's were wide with the dawning of a realization. She looked to Raen, then Lomëwen, then Kiril, each of whom returned her stare in surprise.

Raen took a deep breath, taking her eyes from Lanithriel's. "We may yet know the name of this Maia."

"What do you mean, niece?" Aragorn questioned her.

All eyes turned to the flame-haired woman. "Lanithriel Moon-Garland must answer this question," she said.

The eyes shifted to the girl from Ithilien.

Lanithriel's face had hardened like old Bilbo's trolls had when they turned to stone. Grimly, she searched for the words to explain, but Legolas spoke swifter than she.

"Might the name of this corrupt Maia be Turandir?" he inquired of her, his pale brow stern. Lanithriel said nothing; only cast her gaze toward the crumbs on her plate.

"Turandir?" asked Arwen. "The Wandering Power?" she translated.

"Such a name arouses suspicion, indeed," said Aragorn. "Why did you not speak of this before, Lanithriel?"

"Forgive me, Lord," she answered, "but I have not your knowledge of the elven tongue and therefore I knew not the meaning of that title. If I had, I might have been reminded of Elhwestal's warning about the power of the Maiar. I admit, though, that a few things about the man called Turandir spoke of strangeness and mysterious power. I talked at length with him this morning and in my…folly…I was heedless to these obvious signs. I see now how blind I was, and I will understand if you deem me not worthy to aid in your search for him, if Turandir is indeed the Maia you speak of."

"Nay, I do not blame you for these oversights, Lanithriel," Aragorn told her. "Indeed, the power of a Maia over Thingol, who was great among the Eldar, caused him to become lost to his people for many long years. How much more influence, then, could a sorcerer have over a human girl?"

"Too much," Lanithriel muttered angrily, hot tears misting over her eyes. She had wept more in this one day than in all the others of her life put together.

She rose as gracefully as she was able from her chair and began to make her exodus from the room. A few of the guests, including her three new companions, made attempts to go after her, but Aragorn forbade them with a mere gesture. "Let her be," he told them softly, "I sense there is more to this than we know."

Halfway to the elaborate, arched doorway of the dining hall, Lanithriel halted. She stood as rigid as a statue draped in silver silk. "I will find him," she announced without turning, "for he will come to me. But I cannot…" She paused, sniffling softly. "I cannot see how it is possible! He was so…" But she could not finish. She ran from the room, shedding tears of profound hurt as she sped through the torch lit halls of the king's house.

**Chapter Seven**

Lanithriel ran until, at last, she found herself outside the stables in the six circle of the city. She stood alone in the nighttime gloom, staring at the carved doors that led to the place where she had first met him. _Elrhos spoke truly_, she thought. _The counsel of the heart will drag you into great anguish._

"Why, dear Valar, do you toy with me so?" she half-whispered to the stars. "Am I thy fool that my struggles and pitfalls cause you great amusement? Well, I wish you would let me die, now."

"Wish not for your death," said a familiar voice from the shadows behind her, "for in so doing you wish also for mine."

Lanithriel spun; both upset and ecstatic that Turandir had come. "Come not near me," she cautioned, "for I can no longer hold you. Indeed these arms may never again know your warmth."

Watching her silently, Turandir ignored her sad declaration and stepped closer to her. "Why say you this? Is the love of a mortal as fleeting as her life in Middle-Earth?"

"Nay," she shook her head violently, tears streaming, "it is the more intense and fiery for it. But, alas! I have loved for naught, and the moment my heart was bound to thee was the moment my miserable doom was sealed."

"I cannot understand what makes you speak in such a manner," said Turandir. His sky blue cloak billowed and rustled softly as he moved closer yet. "But before you explain, let me give you what I wrought for you this day."

"You made something…for me?" she asked, her grim duty momentarily forgotten.

Turandir reached into a blue velvet pouch that was bound to his belt of silken rope. Out of it he pulled a large pendant of mithril on a strong chain of the same shining metal. In the starlight, Lanithriel could see that the pendant was wrought in the shape of a crescent moon, with the shadowed portion of the orb represented by an intricate net of mithril and diamonds. The crescent itself was faced in smooth, white pearl. A silver ray design burst out from all around the edge of the pendant. Never had Lanithriel seen its like.

Turandir reached out and hooked the chain around the girl's neck so that the pendant came to rest heavily against her pale breast. "I…cannot accept such a gift," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I am not worthy to wear such craftsmanship."

"I would not have spent all the daytime hours making this if you were not," Turandir answered, his blue eyes gleaming at her entrancingly. "You may remove it only if you are not pleased with it."

"Not pleased with it?" she said, "Words do not begin to describe how pleased…" Her voice tapered off, she did not finish what she had meant to say. "Turandir," she continued in a whisper, "never has anyone given me anything like this. I shall remember you by it always."

He took the last stride and closed the gap between them. He wove his strong fingers through the gold tresses at the back of her head as he looked down at her.

"I would bring thee all of Valinor in a wooden chest," he murmured, "if it were mine to give." He bent down and touched his lips to hers, then kissed her long under the twinkling stars. It seemed to Lanithriel that ages passed cloaked in the musical peace of night as they stood in an embrace. When in Turandir's arms, naught could touch her but his love. Dragons and wraiths might wheel overhead, breathing treacherous fire, and wars might be waged furious and bloody all about them, but in Turandir's arms, she was safe.

"I love thee," the blue-garbed man said, lifting his face from hers. "I know not why my heart chooses the path it does, for the Valar know I _should_ not love thee, but I do, alas, I do. For now and for ever, I love thee."

"I begin to think that the heart does never that which it _should_ do. Mine has left me almost without hope," she said, pulling away. She toyed with the weighty pendant about her neck as she walked some distance away. "There is something I must ask you," she said without looking at him.

Turandir stood still while the wind swirled the folds of his azure cloak. "I will answer, if I can," he replied.

"I have other friends in this city," she said, "who have helped me come to a realization. I find great difficulty in believing their accusations are true, but certain…events…begin to make me wary-"

"Lanithriel," Turandir interrupted, "there is nothing I desire more than to hear the rest of your musings, but for Elbereth's sake – don't move!"

---------

Lanithriel froze, paralyzed with sudden, gripping fear as a horrible stench stole through the streets. A powerful swooshing sound grew in volume with each terrifying moment that passed. Gradually, a great dark shape materialized out of the darkness just above the sixth wall. It was then that an ear-splitting shriek ripped the chill air.

Suddenly a blast of orange fire blossomed into the sky, leaving wispy clouds of choking black smoke. A fearsome wave of withering heat reached Lanithriel where she stood transfixed on the street, but that was not why her soul screamed in silent, horrified disbelief.

Soaring into the sixth circle of the city came an enormous black dragon. Its wings, webs of vein-laced skin, flapped slowly. Its jaws snapped menacingly as it whipped its great black head this way and that on the end of its long, sinewy neck. When it landed just a small distance from Lanithriel, its grime-encrusted talons scraped and marred the white marble of the street.

It hissed, "Greetings, mortal."

"Greetings, worm," she replied, swallowing her terror and replacing it with wrath. "I am without weapons of steel," she said as sternly as she could manage, "but that does not mean I am unarmed. Fight me, if you will."

But then there was a hand upon her arm, restraining her, calming her. She looked up to see Turandir at her side. His painfully handsome face was the picture of serenity, yet he was solemn. He did not look at her, but at the dragon.

"You would die by his claws or teeth if you fought him," Turandir said simply, "and I have already forbidden thee to die."

Lanithriel stared in fresh shock as the man in azure strode fearlessly to the dragon, who then lowered his neck for him. Turandir mounted the foul black beast and threw his cloak over his shoulder. As the dragon returned to the air with Turandir upon his back, Lanithriel shouted after him.

"Then it is you, isn't it?! You would cause upheaval and rebellion in Aragorn's city?! Turandir, what frightened that horse this morning? Was it startled to find a sorcerer outside its stall? Was it? I ask you! Turandir!" But neither the dragon nor the Maia appeared to hear her.

Lanithriel sank to her knees, racked with gushing tears of burning ire. The streets began to flood with yelling, terrified people all about her. The clatter of guards' armor suddenly filled the night air. "I love thee, too," she wept, shaking. "I love thee, too!"

"Lanithriel!" the voices of Raen, Kiril, and Lomëwen called. "Lanithriel, are you all right?"

When she did not answer, the three raced over and helped her rise to her feet. Strong were their arms, yet gentle and comforting.

"We set out to find you the moment we heard that hellish screech," Raen assured her. "We feared that in your hunt you'd met with a mightier foe than you expected."

"It was him, wasn't it?" asked Lomëwen compassionately. "The man you met in the stables is indeed the Maia that plagues my father's city?"

"It must be true," moaned Lanithriel, "for no innocent being has a fell worm for his steed and faithful companion. And his sorcerer's powers are clear to me now. It is with the aide of ancient magic that he moves about so quickly and so quietly. His craftsmanship is great, as well. He wrought for me this," she said, lifting the moon pendant in her hand for the three women beside her to see.

Kiril gave a small sigh, but her ageless face was grave. She reached up and felt the pendant in her own slender hand. "This is none other than the work of one who possesses great magic. It is a fair piece indeed and I do not believe I have seen even an elven hand create its peer."

"Though a traitor to my lord wrought this necklace," Lanithriel replied, "I shall wear it still. For my heart loves whom my heart loves, and I believe that Turandir's power had naught to do with that. 'Twas his face and loving-kindness that won my love, not his sorcery. For while he drew from me mirth and laughter, and cast over me sometimes a spell of peace, these were but ways in which he showed his own love."

"This I would believe," said Kiril, "but that changes not the crimes Turandir has committed against our king and friend. I cannot guess why, indeed none can, but this Maia spreads treacherous rumors, distrust, and hatred, so that neighbors will be become suspicious of each other and of the king. Violence lurks just around each corner, waiting patiently to break out and sear this fair city. Look! Even now quarrelling begins at Turandir's hand!"

The four of them turned and looked up the street where Kiril pointed. Two groups of torch-bearing men had gathered in front of a pair of houses. They were beginning to shout at each other.

"Clearly the reign of Aragorn has outlived its glory," one man cried, "for surely a mighty and just king would not allow a fire-breathing worm to fly freely in our streets!"

A man from the opposing group cried out in answer to him: "'Tis no easy feat to keep dragons out of your city when it is filled with servants of the dark!"

"Do you accuse me of treason, snake?!" bellowed the first man.

"I know not of your traitorous activities," answered the second man, seething, "except for a day not so distant in the past when you burgled a spear from my household that was an heirloom of my family."

"I have burgled no spear, you despicable goblin of a man, for there is surely nothing of _yours_ that I desire!"

"Is that what the fellow in blue told you to say?"

"Nay, he has made more visits to your household than to mine!" retorted the first man. "No doubt, it is _you_ who are weaving a conspiracy with him!"

With that, the two men lunged at each other's throats. Their respective groups followed their example and hell broke loose. As it was late in the evening and neither mob had their weapons with them, they all resorted to wrestling and punching like barbarians. Blood was flung onto the pristine marble as noses were broken and lips cut against teeth. Black bruises bloomed all over the limbs of the battling men as they pummeled each other madly. Their shouts and roars filled the night air with thunderous noise, but the screams of their wives and children from the doorways were louder.

Without further hesitation, Lanithriel, Lomëwen, Raen, and Kiril sprinted to intercede in the fight. Kiril and Raen whisked out their knives as they ran. An elegant yet deadly looking dagger flashed into Lomëwen's left hand as she loosened _Gildring_ in its hilt with her right. Lanithriel had found her weapons, along with all her other possessions, in the room in the Citadel, but she had unfortunately not brought them to the feast. Nonetheless, she raced toward the fight as swiftly as her friends.

"Do whatever you must to get them off of one another!" screamed Lomëwen. "No one dies in my father's city tonight!"

The four women screamed the battle cries of their homelands as they leapt into the fray. The two mighty elf women threw themselves between men and thrust them apart with a hand on each chest. Some of the men flew backwards several steps, so strong were Lomëwen Half-Elven and Kiril of ancient Mirkwood. Raen let her knives gleam threateningly in the faces of some of the citizens so that they retreated and let each other alone. The brawl began to break apart and the yelling began to be quieted as the four danced between the two angry crowds and forced them back.

One man, however, thought he might get a last blow at the neighbor he had despised and suspected for long, dark weeks. The man seized half of a heavy, splintered torch from the ground and hurled it with all his might at the opposing rabble. Lanithriel saw it spinning through the air like a spiked mace toward another citizen whose back was turned to the danger. She exploded forward in two great running strides and then literally skidded across the slick marble into the path of the fractured torch.

"Nooooooooo!" screamed Lomëwen, but her cry of horror reached Lanithriel's ears like the muted song of the wind through a canyon. It was as though it came from a distant world, separate from the slow, silent one Lanithriel now moved through. Mouths moved soundlessly. Lamp flames bobbed leisurely. Everything was blurry except for the splintered beam that hurtled straight for her.

The pointed end of the torch hit Lanithriel with a flat, wet thud as it pierced her shoulder. She stood for a moment, staring down at it and the moist, red rose that bloomed on the breast of her silver gown. _Lovely,_ was her only delirious thought. She collapsed to the street in shock, jagged wood grating against bone. Her head bounced against the marble, but she felt nothing. Pain was no more; light was no more, only soothing, creeping darkness. A wave of nausea washed over her just before she passed from Middle-Earth to the edge…

"No, Lanithriel, no!" wept Lomëwen, shoving her way through the gathering crowd to reach her friend. She knelt beside the injured girl and gingerly lifted her head into her lap. "I told you no one was to die in my father's city tonight," the elf whispered.

"I am swifter than any here," said Kiril, glancing at Lanithriel's wound, "I will fetch the healers to come and take her away." With that, the slight elf was off like the wind, her white-gold hair streaming behind her.

Raen walked slowly over and placed a hand on the head of her kneeling cousin. "You see!" she cried to the crowd. Women and children began to fill the streets, as well as men. "You see what harm lies and distrust give birth to! Here lies a young human, mortally wounded, and she is not even from Minas Tirith! She may die because of your disharmony, your trivial doubts. The treacherous Maia, Turandir, who was known to clad himself in blue, planted rebellion and discontent in your hearts. But you fostered that rebellion, allowing yourselves to be turned against each other and against your good and just king. Look what has come of it! Merely look around you at your brothers, whom you fought, and see how one wicked heart has spread its malice and marred our fair city! Be warned! All that glitters is not gold, you gullible fools! Turandir's beauty and flattery no doubt dazzled you into believing the falsehoods he invented." Raen knelt down and stroked Lanithriel's cold cheek. She murmured, "And his glitter was enough to snare this steadfast heart."

Warm blood now trickled from Lanithriel's shoulder onto Lomëwen's tan breeches, staining them the color of wine.

"Too swiftly she loses blood," the elf told Raen in a troubled tone.

"Kiril outran the spawn of Shelob in Mirkwood, surely she will bring the healers soon."

As they spoke, Aragorn, Legolas, and Arwen came flying down the street, their rich clothing billowing. As the king approached, the crowd dispersed completely. Citizens huddled their families together and ducked shame-faced back into their homes. The white marble, however, still bore the mark of their scuffle.

"Pray tell what happened here?" demanded Aragorn, anger painting his brow.

"A small battle broke out here not five minutes ago, Father," answered Lomëwen, "and Lanithriel took a mortal wound. It was the result of the work of Turandir, the Maia. He fled this place a short time ago. He rode a black dragon."

"A dragon?" said Arwen, "I had thought them all dead or withdrawn forever into the shelter of their dark mountains and caverns."

"Apparently that is not so," said Legolas, bending down near Lanithriel and Lomëwen. He placed the back of his hand to her brow and then examined the bloody shaft stuck in her shoulder. "I would remove this," the elf said, "but I fear it would only make the bleeding worse. We shall let the healers decide how best to do it."

All heads turned as they heard boot steps slapping against marble down the street. Kiril came, leading two healers who bore between them a litter formed of two wooden poles and a length of hardy cloth. They laid the litter down beside Lanithriel and then helped Lomëwen and Raen slide her cold, limp body onto it.

As the healers rushed the girl away, Lomëwen muttered, "For Gondor…"

"What did you say?" Aragorn asked his daughter.

Lomëwen turned, the golden streak in her hair catching the light of a streetlamp. "For Gondor," she repeated. "That was the last thing she said, Father. She sang it as she flew into the midst of the conflict – as brave as any of us, only without a weapon of any kind – 'For Gondor and the king!'"

"'Tis a foul thing that a maid from Ithilien must take hurt for her Lord and king," Aragorn commented grimly.

"Nay, Lord, say not that this is a foul thing," Kiril told him, "for Lanithriel wanted nothing more than to defend you in your own city. Perish she may, but if she does, she will perish at peace with herself."

"'Tis true," agreed Lomëwen and Raen.

"What of Turandir and the dragon, then?" asked Arwen. "We must do all that is within our power to prevent any more injuries."

"We cannot know where it is that they hide when they are not within the walls of Minas Tirith," said Legolas, "therefore we must wait until they return to face them. But Lanithriel's kin will wish to know what has befallen her. Someone must ride out and meet her brothers, if indeed they have already left Ithilien."

"Alas, you are right, friend Legolas," remarked Aragorn. "I will send some of the guard with you to seek out Arandil and Farithil of Ithilien, if you will go."

"I will," said Legolas, and he trotted off in the direction of the stables to fetch Arod.

Arwen addressed Raen, Kiril, and Lomëwen: "You three would be wise to go to your quarters and store up as much rest as you are able. We will all need our strength and wits about us when Turandir and his fell steed return."

The three agreed that this was true and they knew they had not the healing skills to mend Lanithriel's hurt, so they trudged dejectedly back to the Citadel. Aragorn and Arwen returned with them after the king mustered a few nearby soldiers to ride with Legolas into the surrounding country.

As the king and queen retired to their bedchamber half an hour later, Aragorn wondered to himself. "A dragon," he mused. "Of all the evils I thought I might face as Lord of Gondor, a dragon was certainly not one."

Arwen held his hand reassuringly. The hour was late and the king had grown weary from the day's events, but the queen looked as fresh as if she had slept one hundred years. "One of your truest archers will slay it," she said calmly. "Perhaps even Lomëwen will defeat it – she has nearly the aim of Legolas."

"True," answered Aragorn, "unless it is the sort of beast that was ridden nigh thirty years ago by the Captain of the Nazgûl."

"If that be the case, my Lord, then even elven hearts may quail before it when it comes. Who knows, then, who could defeat it?"

"That is to be seen, I guess," sighed the king. "We must always hope," he said, leaning his head on Arwen's slender shoulder. "We must always hope in what may yet come to pass. We have ever survived in this way."

Arwen nodded, singing softly,

_"A Elbereth Gilthoniel_

_o__ menel palan-díriel_

_le__ nallon sí di'nguruthos!_

_A tíro nin, Fanuilos!"_

**Chapter Eight**

Turandir angrily paced the top of the sixth wall of Minas Tirith. He had replaced his azure mantle for a plain, ink-black cloak. He moved silently, his frustration smoldering behind his piercing eyes.

_She was only trying to halt the fighting!_ he thought. _She merely tried to prevent anyone from being hurt and the thanks she received was a torch in the shoulder? Mortals are so feeble of mind! But, alas! She is mortal, too, and she may die. She may die and leave me…alone._

Beyond the terrifying thought of losing Lanithriel, the Maia fumed whenever he remembered how his foul steed had flown boldly, unbidden, right into the heart of the city. He resolved never again to nurse another fell beast back to health when he had a king to usurp. It was simply too much for one Maia to juggle.

_If only that blasted dragon had not decided he missed his master, _Turandir seethed, _Lanithriel would not suspect anything! No one would suspect anything. But Iarog is too impatient, too hungry for death. Now all my designs have come to naught and I no longer benefit from the cloak of secrecy. _He paused, a strange kind of despair stealing into his spirit. _And what will Celebrin think of me? Surely she will love me no more when she wakes and remembers that I am the one who has plotted against her king. But I had no choice…_

Turandir ceased pacing and stood staring down at the Houses of Healing for a moment. It was then that true love moved him to take action. He realized that much separated him from the mortal girl that lay injured within those houses, and the fact that he meant to dethrone her Lord and ruler was only part of it. He grappled once more with the difficult truth that he was a Maia who had fallen in love with a mortal. She had several more winters to see before she was thirty years of age – Turandir was thirty thousand. She would eventually age and her finely honed skills would diminish, but he would live unchanged for all the remaining ages of the world. That laugh, though – ever would that laugh dance in his ears…

_Celebrin,_ he thought, _though from this day forward thou wilt hate me for my treachery against thy king, I must save thee. Live with myself I could not if I let thee perish knowing I had the power to rescue thee from the shadow. For if thy spirit passed from Arda into the halls of thy fathers, it would take with it much joy and beauty, and I would carry the guilt of that unto the ending of the world._

In one fluid movement, Turandir gathered his flowing black cloak into one hand and swept over the top of the wall. He leapt down into a courtyard far below, landing lightly when any other man would have fallen to his doom, and sped off toward the Houses of Healing.

Inside, most of the healers were sleeping. The few that were not had their backs turned as they rummaged through cupboards or mashed leaves in small mortars. Turandir disturbed not the quiet of the dim rooms as he strode through them, scanning the beds for the form of Lanithriel. At last, he discovered her. She lay stiffly in a bed of white in one of the last rooms. Candlelight cast forlorn shadows across her pale face and the white bandage wrapped carefully around her shoulder. She was alone except for one guard and an old wife, Ioreth, who had served in the Houses for more years than anyone cared to count.

Turandir pulled in a slow, deep breath, steeling himself for what he knew he must do for the one he loved. "Greetings," he said softly.

The old wife and guard turned from where they stood watching Lanithriel and stared at him, surprised.

"Can I be of service to you, good sir?" asked Ioreth.

Turandir drew back his hood and ignored the soft gasp of the aged healer before him. He was accustom to women swooning at the appearance he had clothed himself in thirty thousand years ago. "Yes, madam," he answered. "You seem a very kind and understanding woman-" She nodded vigorously. "That is well, for I hoped you would allow me a moment or two alone with the Lady Lanithriel. She is…dear…to me and I feared she would pass from this life before I had a chance to…bid her farewell."

"Oh, yes, yes, my Lord," said Ioreth solemnly, "you were wise to come quickly to her side. For she walks now in the shadow and no herb or remedy of mine is able to bring her back. She lost more blood this night than I have seen shed since Sauron was defeated. Know this, though, Lord," added the old wife, placing a warning hand on Turandir's arm, "she may not hear whatever it is you want to say – she is that far gone."

At those words, the Maia thought his ageless heart might have skipped four beats. "I thank you, madam," was all he could say as he patted her hand.

Ioreth then beckoned for the guard to follow her and they went out into the adjoining hallway. When they passed from sight, Turandir swept over to Lanithriel's bedside. He knelt down and took her cold hand into his.

"Fair Celebrin," he whispered, "you cannot leave me. Even if I cannot live out the rest of my existence with you, I would that you still roam Middle-Earth and fill the spring air with your laugh. I think, at least, that I could rest if I knew that you were alive somewhere." He cast his eyes downward, squeezing her hand as he felt two emotions welling up within his spirit – fear and uncertainty. Finally, he looked up and saw that her skin was indeed colorless and void of warmth. Not even the lids over her blue eyes twitched in concealed thought. She was very nearly lifeless, beyond the reach of healers, elvish cures, and even the healing powers of the king. It was time to do what he had come to do.

Leaning forward, carefully avoiding the girl's mangled shoulder, Turandir placed his hands on either side of her pale gold head. He closed his eyes, exhaled all the air from his breast, and let go…

So on that night in Minas Tirith, in the Houses of Healing, in the lonely room at the back, Turandir who sang with the Ainur before the birth of the world surrendered no less than half his power to the life of Lanithriel Moon-Garland, huntress of Ithilien. She did not stir, but stepped from the shadow into peaceful sleep, from which she would wake utterly healed and restored. The wound upon her shoulder became naught but a silver-pink, star-shaped scar. She would live to wield a sword or bow another day. But now, even as she slumbered, she wielded something far more powerful than weapons of wood or steel.

When Turandir came to Minas Tirith, the city held one sorcerer. Now…

It held two.

**Chapter Nine**

Ere he opened his eyes, Captain Elrhos lay still for some time upon the bloodstained earth. He wondered at the tremendous tingling ache in his left leg, until he realized it was beneath the weight of his dead horse. By the lancing pain in his sword arm, he knew it must be broken…or missing.

At last, his eyelids lifted wearily. Above him stretched a vast, cloudless sky, gray and cold with the approach of dawn. He rolled his head to the left and to the right to see what had become of Arandil and Farithil. _Oh, sweet Varda_, he prayed,_ let them not be dead!_

"Brothers!" he called, the cry issuing from his lips as a blood-choked gasp, "Where art thou?"

"Here, Elrhos," answered the hoarse moan of Farithil.

The captain gazed toward the patch of long grass from whence had come the reply. "How do you fare?" Elrhos asked him after a moment.

"I live," answered Farithil. Elrhos guessed that the cough that followed had been a wry laugh.

"Then there is hope yet," Elrhos told him. "Where is Arandil? Does he also live?"

"Brother!" groaned Farithil. "Arandil, answer the call of thy kin!"

"I am here," Arandil grunted as he pushed himself off the ground and stood looking around.

From where he lay, Elrhos could see that his fellow captain was badly bruised, but he seemed to suffer no further injuries. The half-elf then lifted his head and looked down at his mangled body. The shreds of his hunter's clothes were dark with dried blood, other than that he could not tell much. In the west he could see the sparkling tip of Ecthelion. Like a silver needle on the horizon it was, glinting as it caught the light from the rising sun far in the east.

"Alas," Elrhos said to the tiny tower, "I will never reach thee."

"Speak not such nonsense," Arandil answered him, "you must make it to Minas Tirith to tell our sister about your vision." The boy had his back turned to Elrhos as he spoke. He was aiding Farithil in rising to his feet.

Elrhos sighed, disliking the liquid rumble he heard in his chest. "Nay, Arandil," he said, "you and your brother must deliver my message to the Lady Lanithriel. I fear my time swiftly approaches."

"Well, let us have a look at you, Doom-Speaker," jested Farithil, cradling his left arm as he stood. The twin sons of Faramir made their unsteady way over to the captain.

Elrhos knew how great was the hurt he had suffered when he looked in the faces of the brothers as they stood over him. Long moments passed while they stared down the length of his body, then at each other, then back at him.

"Well," Elrhos said, strangely at peace, "I suppose the dragon decided to have me as his breakfast and then changed his mind midway through."

Farithil stumbled away and vomited. The half-elf could hear the mingled sounds of retching and sobbing. He turned his eyes to Arandil, "What say you, young Captain of Ithilien?"

Arandil knelt beside Elrhos. Glassy tears covered his tormented eyes. "Oh, Elrhos!" he shook his head, "Elrhos, my brother! I say that I shall ever love and remember you!"

Finally, the half-elf began to shake with weeping. With his good hand he reached up and pulled Arandil close, so that their foreheads touched and they leaned on one another. "Son of Ithilien," he cried softly, "I fear not death. I only regret that our time together is ended so soon."

Arandil quaked silently with sobs. Farithil crawled over to them and put his hand on Elrhos's long hair.

"Brothers," the doomed captain said, "you must tell your sister of my vision. I have described it enough to you. Surely the winged beast that assailed us on our journey is the one I saw in my dream. Remember – only the Lady Lanithriel can slay it. She alone will be its undoing, though I know not how."

"But Elrhos, how do we know the truth of this vision?" cried Arandil.

"Farithil," said Elrhos, "pull back the hair from my ear." The young captain did so and the eyes of the two brothers widened in surprise when they beheld that their dear companion was indeed of the elven race.

"I am half-elven," Elrhos told them, "my mother was Ellindë of Rivendell. She had the gift of foresight and she passed it down to me. This is how you may be assured that the vision will indeed come to pass."

"Oh, cruel fate!" shouted Farithil to the sky. "Why should you take the life of one who might have walked this earth for long, happy years?!"

"'Twas not fate that decided this," murmured Arandil, looking into the serene eyes of Elrhos, "'twas this elf himself that decided. Elrhos, you gave your life for my brother and I. Do not deny that your valor and mighty strength kept that fell beast from us."

"Deny it I will not, but let not my efforts fail," he answered. "Go this day into Minas Tirith and bring my message to the Lady Lanithriel and the king, for it is for this cause that I gave my life."

"We will do as you ask, friend," said Arandil, "but we will do more than you ask, as well. We will proclaim your name in the streets of the city. We will ignite praise and songs to your name so that many generations may recall what you have done for Gondor."

Elrhos smiled. He looked weary. His life was slipping from him. "I thank you, my brothers," he said. "And since you esteem me so, do one more thing for me."

The brothers glanced at each other, then to his pale face. "What is it you ask?" they said.

The half-elf's tears made clean, white trails through the dust and blood on his cheeks. He looked at each of them and did his best to embrace them to his broken body. "Sit thou with me," he said. "Sit with me as I pass from this world into the dim, lonely Halls of Mandos."

The identical faces of the twins twisted into identical paintings of grief and woe. "We will do this," wept Farithil, "but not because we esteem thee. We will sit with thee because we _love_ thee. Brother. Friend."

So the sons of Ithilien lay beside Elrhos Half-Elven and held his hands and head, until his spirit departed and the morning sun's warm light streamed over his cold, lifeless body.

-----------

As Arod bore him through the gates of the city and out on to the Pelennor Fields, Legolas Greenleaf had scanned the gradually lightening sky overhead. With his elven eyesight he had discerned the dark form of Turandir's beast winging through the air high above. He had urged Arod to make haste toward the east, where Arandil and Farithil and possibly others would be riding. The horse burst forth with valiant speed, leaving the horses of Aragorn's squad far behind. But alas, the dragon was far swifter in flight than even a steed of Rohan.

At last, on the crest of a distant hillock, the elf had perceived the mounted figures of the twin sons of Faramir. Riding with them had been a third soldier, who seemed to Legolas to bear himself like one of the Eldar. This third soldier had been the first to take notice of the dragon flying above.

Riding hard to the scene, Legolas had watched in helpless despair as Turandir's fell steed swooped down upon Arandil, Farithil, and their companion. The tall companion had ridden swiftly to meet the menacing talons of the dragon, always keeping himself between the beast and the brothers behind him. The strong heart of Legolas fell when he saw that even though the third soldier fought hard and bravely, the dragon defeated him and bore him down to the ground.

Now, having slowed Arod to a dejected walk, the green-garbed elf slowly closed the distance between his party and the injured one ahead. From what he could tell, Farithil and Arandil would not have sustained any serious injury, but the case was clearly not so with their companion. _The dragon will have finished him,_ thought Legolas.

At length, the riders Aragorn had sent with the elf caught up to him. For a time, they rode silently around and to the rear of Arod. Apparently, their eyes were capable enough of seeing what had become of the three from Ithilien. Alas, they had come too late.

"Which one of you is willing to bear the body back to the city upon his horse?" asked Legolas grimly.

"I shall be honored to do so," answered one of the soldiers to the elf's right.

"He fought like one of the Eldar," commented another soldier.

"That he did," agreed Legolas. "No doubt, Farithil and Arandil will have a mystery to unravel to us on the journey back to Minas Tirith."

They approached the young twins just as they stood from where they had been reclining next to their companion. When Farithil and Arandil turned and saw Legolas and his escort of soldiers riding up, surprise was not in their faces, only grief and sadness.

Legolas dismounted and walked solemnly over to the twins. He had known them since they were small babes, tottering around his knees, but never had he seen such pain in their eyes. Ere the elf said one word, he took both Arandil and Farithil in his strong arms and held them. They, too, were silent as they returned his embrace. The elf could sense that they would have wept upon his shoulders, had they any tears left to cry.

"Be thou strong," Legolas told them softly. "Your friend is at peace now, and is reached no more by the troubles of this fading earth."

"I have had quite enough of being strong," said Arandil. "I wish only to find my sister. Is she all right?"

"Alas, here is where I must share the ill tidings Lord Aragorn sent me with," the elf answered. The brothers looked startled. "Earlier, the same dragon that descended upon you descended also upon Minas Tirith. It belongs to a sorcerer named Turandir – the one who has been sowing seeds of distrust and hate in the hearts of the people. After the dragon came, a struggle broke out among the citizens in the sixth circle of the city. The Lady Lanithriel was among those who tried to halt the fighting…" he paused. "She was fatally injured. When last I left her, she was battling for life."

"Nay, this cannot be!" cried Farithil. He turned to his twin, "Shall we lose a dear companion and our sister in one night?"

"Lanithriel is in the most capable of hands," Legolas said. "She has been sent to Ioreth the healer in the Houses of Healing, where your father once was cared for and nursed back to life. Pray that Ioreth can do the same for your sister."

"We shall," said Arandil, "but let us not tarry here. To the city we all must return to await news of Lanithriel's condition. While there we can aid in the search for this Turandir."

"Aye," consented Legolas. "Let us first lay the body of your friend on one of these steeds, so that he may be borne in honor into the streets of the city."

A few of Legolas' escort came forward to help the brothers wrap the body of Elrhos in his blood-soaked cloak. They lifted him and settled him gently upon the back of one of the soldier's steeds.

"Who was your companion?" Legolas inquired.

"Captain Elrhos of Ithilien," answered Arandil, "but we learned only of late that he was a half-elven. The son of Ellindë he was, an elf of Rivendell."

"From afar I discerned that this might be so," remarked Legolas. "My heart is heavy that the world should lose so brave and mighty a warrior."

"Indeed," said Farithil, "he was of the most valiant of my father's soldiers. My father's heart, too, shall be heavy when he learns the ill news of Elrhos' death."

Two of the soldiers doubled up upon one of the horses so that Farithil and Arandil could share a mount on the way back to the city. For the fear of dragons was in the hearts of the horses that came after fair Snowmane, who threw his master to the ground on those very fields. The steeds of the twin brothers had fled in terror before the scorching breath of the dragon and were nowhere to be seen.

A sullen mood was over the party as they rode back to Minas Tirith. For most of the ride, they spoke not, yet Legolas was moved to caution the sons of Faramir about their sister.

"Hunters," Legolas addressed them. They turned on their horse and looked at him. Their eyes were haunted and their faces pale in the early light. "I must warn you concerning the Lady Lanithriel. For some days, she has known Turandir the Maia, though she knew not that it was he that troubled the king and his city. Whether it was by his magic or for other reasons, I believe her heart was swayed in his favor. Indeed, I fear she loves him."

Farithil was silent. Arandil shook his head, saying, "If a mortal wound was not enough, our proud sister now must carry a deeper hurt. She is betrayed by the one she loves. I know of no greater treachery."

"Nor do I," replied the elf, "and she will have to decide between the love of her king and good and the love of Turandir. That is, if she wakes."

Naught but silence followed Legolas' voice as they entered the city and rode upward toward the sixth circle. Once there, they met the Lord Aragorn and his queen, along with Princess Lomëwen, Princess Kiril, and Raen.

"Greetings," Aragorn said to the twins as they dismounted and a few stable hands led the horses away. "You cannot know the depth of my gratitude for your coming to Minas Tirith. Your company will be of comfort to me if nothing else."

"We are glad to be of aid," replied Farithil. "Though it would seem that we are too late to be of good."

"Nay, that is not true," said Aragorn. The king's eyes then fell upon the bundled form of Elrhos, which was being laid carefully upon a circle of grass in a nearby courtyard. "Who is that yonder wounded man?"

"Oh, no!" breathed Arwen, horror icing over her beautiful features. She turned her gray eyes to Farithil and Arandil. "Tell me that is not Elrhos of Rivendell, son of Ellindë?"

"'Tis none other," said Farithil sadly, "and he is more than wounded, Lord and Lady – he has perished."

Arwen went over to Elrhos' body and knelt beside it. A single tear dripped from her cheek to his. "Gifted he was," she said softly. "Gifted as my father was in the ability of seeing that which may come to pass."

"Yes, Lady," said Farithil. "Elrhos, our dear companion and fellow captain, was not, at first, going to come with us on our journey to Minas Tirith. But the night before we departed, he had a dream concerning the Lady Lanithriel, our sister." Farithil glanced meaningfully to his brother as he added, "Only this morning did we learn that his dream was the true vision of an elven mind.

"First, Elrhos assured us that we would find her here, in the city, and she would be with friends. We were glad at this, especially father – for he was greatly disturbed when she fled Ithilien against his orders. But then Elrhos told us of a dragon that would plague Minas Tirith in the near future, and that Lanithriel would be the only being with the power to defeat it."

Arandil continued for his brother, "Father commanded Elrhos to accompany us on our journey so that he could give the details of his vision to Lanithriel. He did not know Elrhos was half-elven, or that he possessed the gift of foresight, but he has ever trusted the judgment and feelings of the captain, so he sent him. We were attacked by the very same dragon in Elrhos' vision on the Pelennor today."

"What can this mean?" said Kiril. "We do not even know if Lanithriel will live, let alone rise from her sickbed to contend with a Maia and his dragon!"

"My sister speaks truly," remarked Legolas, "I do not see how this will come about."

"But come about it will," said Arwen. "We must trust to hope that she will survive her wound." The queen rose from the grassy mound and walked to Farithil and Arandil. "Brothers, the Lord Aragorn and these others will take you to see your sister in the Houses of Healing. I will stay here with the soldiers and arrange for the body of Elrhos Half-Elven to be borne with honor to Imladris, my home of old, for I knew him and walked with him sometimes among the leaves."

"We thank you, dear Queen," said Arandil, "but before he is taken away, we must hold his funeral march. We promised him we would proclaim his name in the streets of Minas Tirith."

"And so shall it be," nodded Arwen graciously. "But do not trouble yourselves about him now. His spirit is at peace and his body soon will be. Go! Go to your sister."

Aragorn, Lomëwen, Kiril, Raen, Farithil, Arandil, and Legolas all started off for the Houses of Healing to see how Lanithriel had fared the night. They went leaning wearily upon each other and clasping hands as friends and allies against the darkness that threatened to take them.

-------------

Lanithriel sat up as morning sunlight pierced the curtains on the window next to her bed. She immediately felt that she was warm all over, as though she had been sitting in a tub of bath water for long hours. She then looked down at the skin on her bare arms, which seemed to shimmer in a silvery sort of way, though she was not sweating. Finally, she recalled the events of the eve before, when her shoulder had become very intimately acquainted with a splintered club. She glanced down and gently pulled the bandage away from her shoulder, discovering that where once had been a deep, bloody gouge was now only a shiny, star-shaped scar. She felt no pain as she tested her limbs – no soreness, no stiffness, and no weakness.

_How can it be that I am already healed? Or have I slept a week?_ She wondered. She wondered also if she was even awake, or if she had died and passed on to the next world, for the amount of strength and freshness she felt did not seem real.

Shaking her head in bafflement, Lanithriel threw her legs over the side of her bed and stood. Everything seemed a little farther below her than normal, but she supposed that was an effect of lying still and low for so long. She was not dizzy, but instead felt more balanced than usual, so she moved over to the chair against the far wall where her silver dress was resting. It had been washed thoroughly and sewn up carefully where the torch had cut through the shoulder. Her silver circlet crown, slippers, and moon necklace were upon the seat of the chair as well.

Lanithriel decided to dress and then go see what had become of her friends. She still did not know how the fight had turned out, or if it had even been stopped. But she knew there was certainly no time for lying about in bed, especially if she felt well enough to wield a bow.

_Come to think of it,_ she thought, _I feel well enough to wield the bow of Oromë the Vala and fire a pine tree from it!_ She shed the clean white nightgown and bandage she had been dressed in and exchanged them for her silver dress. She put on her circlet and necklace and slipped on her shoes.

At that moment, Ioreth the healer strode in with a bowl of water and a towel. The old wife looked up at Lanithriel and the bowl crashed to the floor, spreading clay shards and water across the wooden boards.

"Oh, sweet Valar!" Ioreth exclaimed, dropping to the floor. Right there in the pool of water, she curled up into a prostrate position, bowing.

"Old woman!" cried Lanithriel, "What in Middle-Earth are you doing? Are you not my healer?"

"I was the healer of Lanithriel of Ithilien," Ioreth mumbled to the floor, "but her body is gone and now before me stands her spirit!"

"What do you mean, woman?!" asked Lanithriel, tossing the nightgown to the bed and rushing over to the old wife. "There, there, get up!" she said. "I, too, am surprised at how fully I am healed."

"_Healed_?!" cried Ioreth, daring to lift her face to Lanithriel, "Thou art _remade_! You are something more than the mortal girl I tended last night!"

Ioreth remained quivering on the floor as Lanithriel slowly rose to look in the mirror hanging on the wall. The girl was too afraid to breathe. When her face became level with the looking glass, she began to shake like the old wife. Staring wide-eyed back at her was a Lanithriel who was much too tall, to begin with – almost as tall as Turandir. Her face suddenly held the wisdom and antiquity of one who had lived many ages, yet her skin was as smooth and faintly silver as cloud. Her eyes were brighter, deeper. Her shoulders, broader, prouder. Everything that had been fair about her countenance before was now increased a hundred fold. Looking down, she saw that her hands were longer, both more delicate and stronger than they had been. She was new, yet somehow terribly old and powerful.

Lanithriel knew not what spoke to her, urging her to extend her fingers toward the pieces of broken pottery on the floor, but she listened. She knew not who owned the warm voices that were singing in harmony within her, but their song flowed through her. She knew not where the invisible power came from that made the clay pieces slide together into a pile then rise into the air, but she mended them. There, in midair, the bowl became whole again, the pieces knitting together as though they were still moist and moldable. Lanithriel set the bowl down on the floor and stared, quaking, at Ioreth.

"G-g-good woman," she whispered, "what…h-happened to me?"

The healer slowly found her feet and reached for Lanithriel's hands. The girl reached out for the old woman and watched her intently as she answered.

"A man," Ioreth said, "who was fairer than any I have seen in my ninety-three years, came into this room yester eve. He said he wished to bid you farewell before you died, for everyone feared you would. Tall he was, with eyes of clearest blue, and when his visit with you was over, it seemed to me that you slept more peacefully. Know you who he is?" she asked.

"Turandir," Lanithriel said. "Turandir the Maia."

"That name is being spoken in the streets," remarked Ioreth. "They say he is the evil sorcerer that plagues our Lord's city!"

"He is," said Lanithriel simply, striding now for the door. Ere she ducked from the room she turned back to the shocked Ioreth. "Thank you, Lady," she announced, "for tending my wound. Fear not, for I think Turandir is but half the evil sorcerer he was before."

---------

Legolas gripped his longbow when he perceived the strange silver light at the far end of the street. He stopped and watched, squinting in perplexity at the shining beams shooting out from around a corner. Aragorn, Lomëwen, Kiril, Raen, and the twin brothers noticed that the elf had halted and they, too, stopped. They inspected the far away look on his face for a few moments before the king spoke up.

"Legolas, my friend, what do you stare so intently at?"

"Look over yonder," the elf prince told them, nodding his head toward the shimmering silver rays.

The other six turned and squinted with him. A goose bump-raising breeze swirled past them as they stood still and contemplating.

"Do your elven eyes discern from whence that odd light comes?" the king asked his friend.

"Nay," Legolas answered quietly, "I cannot explain it. But I know this – it is coming closer."

If Lomëwen, Kiril, Raen, the king, or the two brothers felt any fear or trepidation, they did not allow it to show upon their faces. They needed no words to communicate to one another that it was time to brace themselves and have their weapons ready. Not a one of them had to open his or her lips to alert the others that Turandir had possibly returned to Minas Tirith to confront the king.

The citizens of the sixth circle, who had shut themselves up in their houses even more tightly since the dragon had come, began to be conquered by their curiosity. Some of them started to come out of their homes to see why the Lord Aragorn and six of his relations were standing in the street staring silently. Children gaped nervously at the scene from behind their mothers' skirts. Husbands put their arms around the trembling shoulders of their wives as they came onto their marble doorsteps. None of them, however, ventured very far from their doors. For no one could say what was about to happen, or what everyone was waiting for.

"There," murmured Legolas, just loud enough for his companions to hear, "I can see a figure within the light."

"I see it, as well," nodded Kiril.

Lomëwen moved closer to her father, not out of fear, but because she knew she would protect him with her life. She peered with concentration at the growing light, now appearing as a softly shining star with a human- or elf-like shape at its center. "The being is very tall, like Turandir," she said, "yet Turandir did not seem so slender and lissom when I first saw him."

"Indeed," said Legolas, "that form belongs not to Turandir, but perhaps to another Maia. For none but one of the Ainur could blaze so, like pure mithril and starlight. But why am I reminded of…?"

"Lanithriel?!" cried Farithil. Immediately, tears sprang into his eyes and he ran fearlessly down the street toward the glowing figure.

"Farithil, wait!" cried Legolas, springing after the young captain. The remaining five sprinted after the elf and helped him restrain Farithil.

"Brother!" said Arandil, "We know not yet who this mysterious being is! It may be another treacherous Maia. It may be a trick! For Elbereth's sake, wait one more moment!"

Farithil continued to struggle in the grasp of Legolas and his brother as the radiant silver figure closed the distance between them. At last, all gathered saw who it was.

Lanithriel Moon-Garland, now a sorceress of awesome power, strode forward from her soft orb of light. As she walked, pearly beams continued to stream all about her. Her skin sparkled slightly in the young sunlight. Glossy as molten platinum was her curling, shoulder-length mane and her beauteous face radiated calm conviction. She had grown taller, so that her head was even with that of Legolas Greenleaf, and she held herself with pride and grace such as she had never possessed before.

"It _is_ you!" exclaimed Arandil, releasing Farithil as the two of them rushed to embrace her.

"Halt!" commanded Lanithriel. Farithil and Arandil froze. The seven before her were taken aback at how the girl's voice now seemed to resonate with music and power. None of them could think why, but they suddenly found that they wouldn't dream of doing other than that which she ordered. "Come no further, brothers," continued Lanithriel, "for though I have missed you, as well, I fear that I may harm you." She looked with great love and care to each face, and it seemed to Lomëwen that the young woman was soaking them all in, to preserve their memory for all time. "I have come into some great magic," Lanithriel explained. "I believe it was given to me by Turandir the Maia, for he came to my chamber last night when I was near to death and this morning I feel more alive than ever before. I…can do things that are not possible for anyone other than…a sorcerer. I have not yet learned to fully master the power, and I know not what would happen if I embraced you, brothers, and released it accidentally. Therefore, touch me not, but let me see your smiles."

Slowly, grins of relief and joy bloomed on the mouths of the twins.

"Sister," said Arandil, shaking his head in wonder, "changed you are, nearly beyond what I can believe. Clearly you have had more encounters with this Maia, Turandir, than we thought, for he must have loved you greatly to sunder his power in half for you."

"He did," Lanithriel said, suddenly crestfallen, "and I loved him in return. But he meant and still means to dethrone my Lord and king and this I cannot allow. Turandir must surrender or be defeated."

"Elrhos' vision!" interjected Kiril. "Farithil and Arandil – you said that Captain Elrhos Half-Elven had a vision that assured him only Lanithriel could defeat Turandir's dragon. This must be why! Turandir gave her half his power – Lanithriel is his equal!"

"Half-Elven?" asked Lanithriel. "I knew not that Elrhos is the son of an elf."

"None did, save the elves of Rivendell, and Elhwestal Lightfoot," said Arandil, avoiding the ill news of the captain's death.

"One moment!" cried Legolas, "I nearly forgot! What has become of my messenger, Elhwestal? I saw him not upon the Pelennor this morning."

The twins stole amused glances at each other, but tried to evade the questioning frown on the face of Legolas. "He came not with us, Lord," said Farithil, snickering.

"Pray tell, why is that?" demanded Legolas, placing his fair hands upon his hips.

"Well…" began Farithil, "he was rather fond of…"

"Fond of what?" persisted Legolas, clearly perturbed to impatience.

Arandil smiled wide, answering, "He was too fond of Ithilien's trees to leave them, my prince! He urged Elrhos, Farithil, and I to go on alone and not to wait for him – he had to bid farewell to our…our…our…_trees_!" He broke out in hysterical laughter, which spread swiftly to the rest of the group, including an exasperated Legolas.

Lanithriel, however, was not laughing. Worry leaked into her deep blue eyes. "Elrhos…came with you?" The question left her lips as naught but a whisper, but everyone lining the street heard it. It was on the very wind, in their spirits, raising the hair on the backs of their necks.

The seven faces around her fell instantaneously. The mirth and laughter of a moment before was gone, nothing more than a happy yet fading memory.

"Yes," Arandil said simply.

"W-where is he?" the sorceress asked.

Legolas stepped forward. "He is dead, Lady."

"Dead? But how? When? Tell me!"

The elf of Mirkwood shrank back before the urgency and anger in her voice. She seemed suddenly like the unpredictable sea just ere the start of a winter storm. He answered, "The fell steed of Turandir attacked him and your brothers just this morning, at the breaking of the dawn. Elrhos fought valiantly defending you kin, and they are unhurt except for their bruises, but he paid with his life."

"Ere his spirit passed from Middle-Earth," added Arandil, "he sent us with a message for you about his vision. In a dream he learned that you would be the only one who could contend with the mighty Turandir and his dragon."

Moisture shone in Lanithriel's eyes. The wind stirred her silver gown as she said, "Turandir and Elrhos both cared for me, but there are two things Elrhos possessed that Turandir did not – bravery and honor."

Legolas, Arandil, Farithil, Lomëwen, Raen, Kiril, and Aragorn parted as Lanithriel strode between them. She walked to a broad, open square where there were no houses for some distance. Her seven companions followed in her wake, along with a large crowd of quiet, curious men, women, and children. They gathered in a massive circle around her as she stepped up on to the edge of a fountain and planted her feet firmly. She spread her arms wide and uplifted her palms to the heavens. Then Lanithriel tilted back her head and closed her eyes.

From someplace unseen, a great, chilling wind gathered strength and blew through the courtyard, singing mournfully as the unbelievable took place. The water gurgling clear as crystal in the marble basin of the fountain gathered into a swirling pillar and rose high above the heads of the crowd. Her hair and gown flapping in the air, Lanithriel brought her head forward again and spoke in high elvish. Her voice was cool and smooth as cobalt as it vibrated in the lucid water, in the ground, in the air, and out over the Pelennor Fields far below:

_"Ele!__ Utúlien ve Celebrin!_

_Túle__, a mornië, ciruvan!"_

Unsure of whether to flee in terror or remain and observe, citizens stood rigidly, glancing from Lanithriel to the horizon and back. For there above the distant peaks of the Ephel Dúath appeared a speck of black that bobbed slowly up and down as it came. Farithil, Arandil, and the others looked on in mixed horror and amazement as a slow smile grew on Lanithriel's lips. She was watching the black speck, as well, and kept her arms open wide as though waiting to embrace it.

It would not be long.

Gradually, the dark speck grew to a shadowy blotch, then to a foreboding smear, until it was clear to all that it had great black wings and a long, twisting neck. Indeed, the dragon of Turandir had come in answer to Lanithriel's call and it bore its master upon its back. The beast let out a soul-freezing scream and a jet of hot, billowing flame as it entered the city and descended upon the sixth circle. A few muffled cries escaped the crowd of gathered citizens, but they remained rooted where they were. They could not long bear to take their eyes from the tall, shining figure of the girl from Ithilien, else they go mad with fear. She alone was utterly unfazed and proud before the stinking, scaly demon that landed in the square.

The dragon settled down upon the marble with grace that belied its size, its horrible talons pitifully marring the precious stone. Turandir, as flawlessly handsome and serene as ever, sat still and silent upon its back. Finally, Lanithriel lowered her arms to her sides, but her mysterious smile lingered. It matched perfectly that on the dragon's fearsome muzzle.

"We meet again," the foul beast rumbled, "only now thou art more than a mere mortal."

"You have your master to thank for that," replied Lanithriel. "I wonder if he would still have shared his power with a human girl if he knew she was prophesied to be the one that would slay his steed."

"I knew what I was doing," said Turandir suddenly. He slid from his beast's shoulders and walked to the side. The crowd moved away in awe.

"Did you?" asked Lanithriel, but she did not permit her eyes to behold him long. She turned instead to the dragon and said, "I will fight you now, if you dare to face me."

"If I dare?" laughed the dragon. It sounded like bones grating against rock. "Do you know who I am?"

Lanithriel stepped down from the fountain. "You are a pathetic worm," she answered, "a dying, decrepit monster who must pray upon mortals to stay alive. You are one of the last of an ancient, diminishing breed, terrified to admit that your time is swiftly approaching. You are a decaying coward who once was majestic and powerful but is finding that the world now holds no place for him. That," finished Lanithriel, "is what you are."

The dragon said nothing, but swung its huge head around to gaze at Turandir. It blinked once.

Turandir stood stiffly, his striking eyes wide and glazing with tears. The arrow meant for his dragon had hit him square in the heart. Without knowing it, Lanithriel had described perfectly the ancient Maia. She had spoken aloud the very reason he had set out to bring down the kingdom of Elessar.

Realizing this, Lanithriel's face fell with shock and remorse, for Turandir she still loved deeply and she had not meant to hurt him. She suddenly found that she pitied him, and knew exactly how he felt.

"You see," hissed the dragon, "Turandir the Maia and I are the same. If you slay me, you must also slay him. But, alas," the black beast sneered, "you do not want to do that, do you, Celebrin?"

Lanithriel tore her eyes from Turandir and faced the dragon. "Nay," she answered, "I do not want to, for I love him more than I love life, more than I love sunlight, more than I love the breath in my breast. But it is his choice alone whether I slay him or not, whereas you have no choice."

"Oh? And, pray tell, why is that?"

"Because you and Turandir are not the same," replied Lanithriel. "I realize now that Turandir has been acting out of fear, but you act out of wickedness. Ever are you drawing upon the depthless evil of your blackened heart. Unjustly, you robbed the life of my friend, Elrhos Half-Elven. I will now extract my vengeance."

Before the fire-breathing worm could answer, Lanithriel whipped the moon pendant and its chain off her neck. She held the gleaming pendant aloft in the fingers of her left hand, with the longest ray of mithril behind the moon shape pointing up. She then flattened her right hand and placed it against the pendant. Shutting her eyes tightly, as though exerting some extreme effort, Lanithriel stroked the pendant and then pushed upward. The citizens could scarcely believe their eyes as the girl actually _stretched _the mithril point until it began to resemble a perilously sharp dagger. Lanithriel kept stroking upward against the pendant until what had once been an artistic moon ray was now a full menacing blade. Breathing laboriously, Lanithriel twisted at three more of the mithril points until her sword had a hilt. The crescent moon of pearl and the shadowed section scattered with diamonds became decoration on the pommel.

The dragon tapped its black talons on the street. "Very good, Lady," it sniffed, "but can you wield it?"

A bead of cold sweat slid down Lanithriel's pale brow. She seethed: "Try me, you scaly bastard!"

With that the dragon flapped its wings mightily and rose into the air. A putrid wind drove some citizens to the ground while others reeled and emptied the contents of their stomachs. The demon circled and began to dive back down toward Lanithriel, who stood waiting, sword in hand.

Arandil and Farithil tried to rush forward to aid her, but Kiril and Legolas restrained them.

"Remember!" Lomëwen cried to the brothers, "We cannot help her in this!"

As the girl from Ithilien prepared to strike the dragon, Turandir made a move that surprised all who were watching. He darted over to the Lord Aragorn and placed himself between the king and danger.

"Later, I shall beg for forgiveness," Turandir called to Elessar over his shoulder, "but for now I will do…what is right." As his blue eyes watched the dragon plummet earthward, he laughed quietly. "It feels good," he said.

It happened in a flurry of light, flashing mithril, gnashing teeth, and beating black wings. The fell beast lashed out at Lanithriel. She brought the sword slicing across its great foot and severed three of its toes. Wine-colored blood sprayed the white marble, steaming and hissing like poison. The dragon screamed and the surrounding people clapped their hands over their ears, cringing. Lanithriel pulled the sword back and thrust her left hand forward. Starry white sparks exploded from her palm, assailing the dragon and singeing its hide. It roared and arched its back in agony. Its tender black breast then became momentarily exposed to the blade of the sorceress.

"I'm so sorry, Elrhos!" screamed Lanithriel, "I am so sorry!"

Tears drenched the girl's face as she said a desperate prayer to the Star-Queen. _Guide my hand, fair Varda! If thou art just, guide my hand this day!_

One angst-ridden cry rent the air as Lanithriel took three swift steps and shoved her blade upward, piercing the dragon's chest:

"FOR GONDOR!"

The beast screeched and collapsed just as Faramir's daughter escaped from beneath it. Its reeking blood leaked onto the street. It was dead.

Lanithriel stood panting for long moments as she stared at the carcass of her foe. She then turned slowly and walked back to where Turandir, her brothers, and her companions stood. She halted when she was four strides from them. The people watching were silent as Turandir stepped forward and knelt before the silver sorceress.

"Lady Celebrin," he addressed her, placing a clenched fist over his heart, "ere the Lord Aragorn has me put to death for my treachery or you slay me in your anger, let me dry the tears from thy cheeks."

"What for?" asked Lanithriel. "They will return soon enough. Return they will whenever I think of you and the blissful moments we shared."

"Too few were those moments," replied Turandir, "but the fault belongs to none other than myself. Had I chosen to accept the change that is coming over the world instead of rebelling, the peace in Gondor would never have been broken."

"True," said Aragorn, stepping forward, "yet you have realized where your wrongs lie. You have professed that you chose wrongly. You have admitted to all your treason and treachery. Though I must banish thee henceforth from Minas Tirith, I shall pardon you," the king told the Maia. "You are not the first to fear change, nor are you the first to try and fight it. This may be the age of men, but a king may indeed save a space for a Maia who is loyal." Aragorn smiled.

Turandir looked in disbelief at the king, amazed by his boundless grace. Then he replied, "I thank you, Lord, I shall be loyal. I shall ever protect Minas Tirith from future enemies, until men have completely forgotten my kind and my history. Until Valinor is half-believed legend and the Ainur but figures of myth, I will serve thee faithfully." He looked once more to Lanithriel. "Lady," Turandir said, "do you truly love one of the last of an ancient, diminishing breed, who is terrified to admit that his time is swiftly approaching? Do you truly love this decaying coward who once was majestic and powerful but is finding that the world now holds no place for him?"

Lanithriel reached down and took Turandir's strong hands, beckoning him to stand. As he did, she answered, "Yes." She smiled. "Don't you know? The world holds no place for me, either."

The golden bells of Lanithriel's mirth chimed again in the city, lifting the heavy hearts of the people gathered all around. Turandir, too, laughed, forgetting his fear of how the elder days were becoming naught but stories written in books or sung in front of fires.

"Celebrin," the Maia said, "if you can forgive me for the crimes I have committed against your Lord, and for bringing that fell demon into Gondor, I would be beyond honored to take thee, brave lady, as my wife. In all of Middle-Earth, there is no one else for me, nor is there another I love or respect more."

Lanithriel glanced to her brothers, who gave her identical nods. She looked into Turandir's beautiful, heart-wrenching eyes. She stroked his proud jaw, his bold nose, his ageless cheek. "I forgive thee," she answered softly. The citizens leaned in a little to hear her. "I will wed you," she said at last, to Turandir's delight. A hearty, raucous cheer burst from the surrounding crowd, including Aragorn, Legolas, Kiril, Raen, Lomëwen, Arandil, and Farithil. Hats and boots were cast into the air. Someone broke out in glad singing.

"Wait!" Lanithriel interrupted, holding up her hand to silence the people. Everyone froze, waiting. "I have one last thing to ask you," she said to Turandir.

The Maia looked hesitant. "And what would that be?" he said anxiously.

She held the sword that had once been her precious moon pendant up to his face. She grinned, "Can you fix this?"

Smiling broadly, Turandir took the sword from her and tossed it into the fountain. He grabbed her into his arms and kissed her as she tried to laugh and kiss him back at the same time. The cheers and shouts began again and Aragorn laughed, wondering if any other king had ever had one of the Ainur for a servant…

**------------**

**The Year 31 of the Fourth Age**

            Fingering her moon pendant, Celebrin walked down the length of the grand hall of Ithilost, Bastion of the Moon. She and Turandir had dwelled there in the hills of Emyn Arnen for nearly a year already. The front gardens were in full bloom and she was in a mood to stroll through them and listen to what the trees had to say.

            When she exited the fortress, she took the main path until she reached a lane of white trees with fiery red-orange leaves. She turned down this lane and walked for a little while, singing softly in Quenya, until she saw a tall, dreadfully handsome man turn onto the same lane. He was clad from cloak to boot in bright azure and his glad eyes were like shards of a clear afternoon sky.

            "Greetings, my Lord," she called. The man smiled and began to walk toward her.

            "Greetings, fair Celebrin," he answered.

            "What brings you to this end of the gardens, proud sorcerer?" asked Celebrin.

            "Well, as a matter of fact, I was wondering…"

            "Wondering what, my heart?"

            They now stood nearly face to face, only she was a little shorter than he.

            "Once upon a time, you were a mortal girl."

            "True," smiled Celebrin, "but you rescued me." A white fox darted out of the trees and came to nudge against her legs.

            "Perhaps," said the sorcerer, "but is not part of you still mortal? I am Maia, and I shall live for eternity, but will not the grievous day come when you… will perish?"

            Celebrin stepped very close to the man in blue. She searched the galaxies of love in his eyes as she answered, "Nay, Lord, for how does one measure half of eternity?"

            The white fox danced away from the laughing sorcerers, there were many more lanes to explore before his afternoon nap.

**Quotations Translated:**

**Lanithriel's**** call to Turandir and the Dragon:**

"Behold! I am come as Celebrin! Come, o darkness, I will cleave thee!

**Turandir's**** calming of the startled horse:**

"May it be that thou wilt find rest!"

**Arwen's**** song:**

"O Star-Queen, Star-Kindler from firmament afar-gazing, to thee I cry here beneath death-horror! O watch over me, Fanuilos!"


End file.
